


The Dragon's Pet

by sarhea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, BDSM, Bestiality, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Drama, Egg Laying, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Romance, Rough Trade, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarhea/pseuds/sarhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Valar give Hermione Granger the choice and opportunity to redeem Smaug. She accepts and succeeds. This changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I - Life in Erebor 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Pretty much all of The Hobbit.  
> AN: I’m twisting canon into a pretzel. Consider this AU-canon, with plenty of OOC. My own twist on dragon biology/culture/history in Middle Earth  
> Warnings: violence, killing, death, graphic sexual intimacy, voyeurism, BDSM themes, quasi-bestiality, egg-laying, dragon shifters  
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ‘verses, I’m just playing with them for fun not profit.  
> For: Rough Trade: Challenge 1 | April 1-14, 2015 | historical, 20K,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Valar give Hermione Granger the choice and opportunity to redeem Smaug. It takes a long while for her to succeed but she does. A bit of dragon lore help bring them together, more intimately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The bits about dragon biology/reproduction/history/memories is completely made up.  
> Edited: April 15, 2015

Hermione winced as she looked around a vast white expanse with no discernable horizon, ground or sky. One moment she had been standing before the Veil, the next falling through it, pushed by a jealous co-worker in the Department of Mysteries. It had been fast and quite painful, being supercharged and dying from the magical overload, her body literally ripping apart from the stresses.

Waking up in the middle of a whitewash was not her idea of a rewarding afterlife. After all she had gone through, fought for, surely she deserved a nicer afterlife.

“Perhaps because it is not the afterlife.”

She turned around. Standing there were two complete strangers. One was a strongly built man with a full black beard and thick mane, both braided into thick ropes. He wore brown suede leather pants and a sleeveless vest. His feet were shod in matching fringed leather moccasins. The entire outfit looked vaguely Native American. The woman was slightly taller, more slimly built with a mane of green tinged blonde hair and bright green eyes. Her dress seemed to be made of leaves, green yellow rust brown. Around the edges and over the bodice it was accented by multi-hued flower petals. Neither of them seemed aggressive or threatening, so Hermione forced herself to relax.

“If this is not the afterlife, then what is it?”

“You can consider it a waiting room.” The man’s voice was low and deep. Hermione was certain it would have sent tingles through her lady parts if she was still flesh and blood. At the moment she was vaguely ambient towards any sort of physical pleasures.

“May I ask who I am speaking to?”

“My name is Aule. This is Yavanna, my wife.”

Hermione frowned. “What are you? And what do you want from me?”

“We are Valar,” Yavanna spoke softly, soothingly. “Some call us gods but we do not aspire for worship. But we do have… concerns about the world we created and look over.”

“Your names are unfamiliar,” Hermione admitted.

Yavanna smiled brightly. “I would expect so because we aren’t gods of Your dimension.”

Chocolate brown eyes widened in understanding. “Oh!” Then she frowned. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand what I could do for you. I’m not one of yours.”

Aule pounced on the last point. “Precisely. You aren’t part of the weft and pattern. You are new, different.”

“But why me? I’m sorry if I’m being irritating but I want to know. You could ask anyone else who died.”

“And if we wanted a good-hearted magical?”

“There are many witches and wizards who fought and died for the Light. Those who are more experienced and powerful. I’m nothing special.”

“We need a magical. Only one with a magical core can carry our blessing into the living world. But not any magical is suitable for the task we would be laying on them. We need a soul who is brave and strong, to stand for her convictions and not bow and break, one who feels compassion and understanding for her enemies, who will give everyone second, third, fourth, many chances.”

“You’re making me nervous now. Just spit it out. What do you want from me?”

“There is a dragon. He has killed hundreds and will continue doing so unless he changes.”

Hermione frowned. “A dragon? I don’t see what I can do other than killing it. Or perhaps trapping it in a warded zone.”

“Dragons are different in Middle Earth. They are sentient, intelligent thinking creatures.”

Pink lips formed a soundless ‘o’ as her imagination raced. “Are they hoarders? Of Knowledge? Treasure? Territory?”

“All of the above though this particular dragon is most focused on gold. He has destroyed two cities, driven the population of one out of their home so he could claim the gold their king had accumulated.”

Hermione winced. “Ouch! And you want me to make him change his mind? About killing and stealing gold?”

“We are not saying it will be an easy or fast task to accomplish. It will take years, perhaps even decades.”

“I don’t see how I can make a dragon change,” Hermione admitted.

“Drops of water can erode stone, as long as the flow is constant and unceasing,” Aule pointed out.

Hermione considered the words and then shook her head. “But this is a dragon! They live for centuries. How old is this one?”

“Quite old and with centuries ahead of him. He is quite cunning and intelligent but he doesn’t have a reason to practice self-restraint.”

“And you think I can make him behave? I could not make two boys do their homework.”

“Be water, a positive example. Erode away his tendencies for senseless violence.”

“He will kill me. Or simply out live me.”

“He will not. You will have our blessings for a long, fruitful life.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t see how I can do it.”

“You just have to be yourself. We’ve watched you for your whole life. You have the strength and purity to counterweigh his destructive tendencies. Teach him to be better than he is.” Aule stated firmly.

Hermione set her hands on her hips, elbows pointing out. “And what if I say no? Or fail?”

“You will not be penalized in any manner,” Yavanna murmured. “We’ll give you five hundred years. If you fail to change him by the end of it you will be free to leave him and live your expected lifetime, hundred years. When you die we will send you onto your previous journey to the afterlife. If you give up before the five hundred years we will send you onto the afterlife.”

“I can take breaks and leave right? You can’t expect me to be chained to one place or person twenty-four-seven.”

“Of course. But you will need to return back to your charge within seven days.”

The witch struggled to maintain her stern expression and failed. Her hands slipped down her hips and over her thighs. “Oh why not. I’ll give it a shot.”

Yavanna smiled broadly. “We look forward to being surprised Hermione Granger.”

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

Smaug the Terrible was pleased. He had a secure lair, an impressive treasure horde, a fearful reputation, vast territory, and there was no one who could stop him from doing as he pleased. And it had only taken destroying a couple of human cities, and driving the dwarfs out of the mountain. And he had so much gold and gems! He shifted and rolled, almost wallowing on the massive piles of gold and silver coins.

“You look like a pig wallowing in mud.” The voice was distinctly feminine and tiny.

He moved swiftly, coming up on all four clawed feet. “Show yourself little interloper.”

A tiny mortal female stepped out from around a pillar far from the visible entry points. Not elf or dwarf. A female from the Race of Man. But she was… more?

Broad nostrils flared as Smaug moved closer and lowered his head to her level. She was unexpectedly brave, not backing away, nor releasing a fear-scent. She was covered in white stuff above the waist and dark blue below. Brown fur covered her head. He could smell her now, a faint tangy but crisp scent. Some sort of plant food stuff mortals ate.

“What are you little interloper?” He sniffed deeply and then more sharply. “Magical.”

She inclined her head and held out her bare hands. “You are correct dragon.”

Smaug was slighted. “Smaug,” he corrected firmly. “Smaug the Terrible.”

“And I am not a little interloper.”

Smaug smirked, a dragon smirk. “You are tiny. And you are uninvited, an interloper.”

“And so are you. The dwarves never invited you into their home.”

He glowered and swung out one clawed forepaw, to make his displeasure clear. He was stunned when the appendage never made contact with the little magical interloper. It hit an invisible shield and bounced off. Smaug had never experienced such a defence. Magic-wielders usually cast energies, manipulated elements to attack and defend. Oh! Somehow she had hardened air itself to act as a shield.

He considered his options and then reared his head back, getting ready to spit fire.

She must have sensed his intentions because she took a step back. “Don’t do it,” she shouted.

Heated air and flames blew straight out at the interloper. She had not even made an attempt to dodge. Thirty seconds later he stopped blowing flames certain there would be nothing left but ashes and charred bones.

“How rude!”

What? There should be nothing left of her but a smudge! Instead she glared up at him and shook a clenched fist. He could smell sweat-fear but it was rapidly dissipating and being replaced by anger and righteous rage.

He lowered his head to the gold-strewn floor and roared “Get out!” directly in her face.

“I will not! I’ve been sent by the Valar to make you change and I will!”

Smaug swiped a clawed foreleg at her and it bounced off before even making contact with her. He tried to wrap his claws around her, to get a hold on her and failed. He growled angrily and stalked off towards a particularly large pile of gold. He began burrowing into it.

“Stop it Smaug. You’re acting like a child throwing temper tantrums. Pretending I don’t exist will not make me go away.”

Smaug paused and turned his head to look at her. “You are mortal little magical. You have nothing to eat. You will give up and leave. If you keep returning in a few decades you will die and be of no consequence.” He turned away and continued burrowing.

She huffed angrily. “You are wrong Smaug. You cannot drive me away. I will change you.”

He snorted. “Impossible.”

“Just watch me.”

**~ooOoo~**

Hermione watched helplessly as the massive red-bronze scaled dragon buried its massive frame under a more massive pile of gold. She wanted to growl and stomp her feet. She wanted to clear out enough gold to reach the dragon’s hide and cast a good stinging hex. Or better yet a Reducto. She did neither. She stood there and fumed and gathered her thoughts.

Smaug had tried to kill her and failed. Thanks to Aule and Yavanna’s blessings he could not even get a grip on her to carry her out and toss her off the mountain side. So what if he was waiting for her to leave of her own free will. He was going to wait a long time for never to happen! Hermione Granger had promised the Valar she would do her best to reform Smaug and she was going to do just that!

She huffed and stalked out of the treasure room. She needed to find a place to sleep and food to eat. Smaug might have driven the former occupants out but they couldn’t have taken all their dried-goods, preserved foods, furniture and clothing. She also needed a kitchen, working bathroom, a bedroom, and a workroom/office. She also needed to find the local library and bone up on her translation charms.

The Valar had given her a general outline of Middle Earth history and culture but Hermione knew one tended to stumble over and stub toes over the little stuff in a foreign land. It would not do to make a major faux pas when she was trying to buy food.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC...**


	2. Part I - Life in Erebor 2

Smaug sighed and shifted on his treasure, nuggets of gems abrading nicely against his softer underside. Just perfect! He settled his head down on his forepaws and tried to sleep. It was difficult. His mind kept wandering towards a particular not-quite-mortal female.

It had been twenty years since the Valar dropped Hermione Granger in the middle of his lair. And her presence had changed him, just as she had warned-promised. The sad thing was Smaug did not resent it. Not anymore. She had become… a friend.

Greed had kept him from abandoning his horde — it was too big to move and there was no other cavern as secure and large as the dwarven city carved into the mountain. His actual change started with smaller inconsequential things, paying attention to her ramblings and monologues. What he heard/saw began shaping his own thoughts and actions. He no longer killed carelessly. Hermione Granger’s games of what-if certainly put an end to that.

There were moments when he had followed through on his lethal impulses. The first time he had tested her, killed a smelly mortal in front of her eyes, she had stared at him eyes blazing, hot words on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t speak a single word. She vanished for five days. Smaug had been pleased, certain he had driven her away. When she showed up like bad coin he had not been happy but he could see her resolve. She would not be driven away and the corpses just stank up his lair so he stopped, though he did test her every few months until he Changed. Her wounded expressions and silences were more of a chastisement than her harsh words. It had become unbearable to tolerate her silences because it gave him too much time to think and second-guess himself. And killing was not significantly increasing his horde so he stopped. It was too much work. Or so he told himself. Now he knew better than to lie to himself.

Smaug wasn’t sure if it was her presence, or the Valar, but he had changed. He no longer felt the ever-present dragonlust, the urge to seek out gold and kill. His mind no longer followed the path that would end in the most kills. His interests turned to history and the natural world, observing and experimenting, interests strongly supported and shared by Hermione. She was his hands and intermediary. She made regular excursions outside his lair, to purchase supplies from the various races and cities. And she always returned. Smaug did not know why but she always did.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

It took another five years for Smaug to admit he envied mortals for their opposable thumbs and short stature. Books were not designed to be read or written by dragon claws. Hermione was generous to charm a dictaquill to record his verbalized thoughts and create an enchanted bookstand that would turn the pages and magnify the sheets for him to read, but it wasn’t enough. Smaug wanted to be able to read and write without intermediary tools. It had been an idle unrealistic hope until just a few months ago.

Smaug had never thought about it but all dragons were born sentient and aware, taught in the shell. He hadn’t known there was another reason why dragons hatched with so much knowledge and experience: genetic memories. After two-and-a-half decades of being exposed to Hermione Granger’s presence, Smaug was remembering things about his species he had never known before, truths from before the Fall, the end of the First Age, the Tainting.

Dragons were hoarders, truth. Treasure did not have to be gold and jewels; many dragons hoarded knowledge and interesting people. Dragon scholars walked among the elves and mortal races, acted as caretakers of the Great Libraries, advisors to kings and lords. Ruling was too boring but interesting puzzles to solve always caught a scholar dragon’s interest.

He wriggled upon the granite paving stones, brushing away gold piles with sweeps of his tail and wings. He needed more contact with raw stone because gold was a distraction. A long sinuous tongue darted out the left corner of his open mouth. He needed a stronger focus. He clamped his mandibles together. Sharp pointed teeth penetrated the tip of his tongue. The sharp metallic tang and minor pain was exactly what he needed.

The world shifted around him and moved far away. The ground was coming up fast towards his face. He wobbled and lost his balance. He didn’t fall far before hitting stone. He could feel muscles cramping all over. His limbs were moving at wrong angles. Something sharply acidic was rising up from his belly. He groaned and threw up. Stone smouldered and smoked from the very acidic body fluids he had just expelled. He rolled onto his side and vomited a second time, expelling acids his body could not tolerate.

~o~

Hermione heard the groans broken by whimpers and muffled curses. The voice was unfamiliar. An intruder!

She swiftly cast a disillusionment spell and hurried towards the sounds. Where was Smaug? He hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving the Mountain. How had someone gotten into the city? The gates were damaged but still intact enough to keep intruders out.

There was no one in the treasure room but there were plenty of spots behind piles and pillars where anyone could be lurking. Carefully she criss-crossed the room, searching out those hiding spots until she found the intruder, a bare-arsed man with a head full of dark curls lying face down on a pile of gold coins. She was momentarily distracted by his lean sculpted frame, long legs, slim hips and waist, and the sculpted planes of his back, broad shoulders and muscular arms. Then her brain kicked into gear and she paid closer attention to his indistinct mutterings.

She crept close enough to hear what he was saying. “It doesn’t feel the same.” This confused Hermione. What doesn’t feel the same? Lying naked on a pile of coins compared to lying clothed on a pile of coins? Speaking of clothes, where were his?

He made a low, painful sound as he leveraged himself off with one hand to roll onto his back. Hermione blushed darkly as she got a prime view of his front. It was just as good as his back. He was not hairy per say and most of his body hair was a light ginger in high contrast to the dark curls on his head. There was a triangular patch over his sternum with a narrow trail leading down to his groin where it bloomed around the base of his quite impressive, flaccid cock. She forced her eyes up, to his face. He looked like her favourite British actor with his narrow sculpted face, high forehead, arching eyebrows, defined cheekbones, long nose with a deep indent above full cupid-bow lips.

His eyelashes were fluttering. Hermione told herself firmly ‘He cannot see you.’ It was still an exercise in control to remain still as he opened his eyes. His eyes were not blue-gold like she was expecting but gold with slit pupils. Wait a second… Gold with slit pupils? She dropped the disillusionment camouflage charm and removed her cape, tossing it towards him, to cover his hips. It wasn’t for his sake, but hers — dragons were not modest, body-conscious creatures, and Hermione didn’t want to be distracted by the more intimate parts of a Grade A male body.

“Smaug?”

~o~

Smaug groaned and tried to focus his eyes. They were not working like he was used to. The angles were all wrong. Hermione was too close. Too close. He sat up in a rush and groaned as acids rose up in his throat. He coughed and spit the liquid as far away as he could manage. He was vaguely pleased when Hermione knelt behind him and held his head up with one hand as he threw up. Then she helped him shuffle away from the noxious liquid.

“Smaug? Is it really you?”

“Yes.” His voice was a croak, nothing like his usual, deep sonorous voice.

“What happened? Did a wizard get in when I was away? Is he still here?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes when the world spun around him. “No wizard,” he groaned. “Just me.”

“You can shape shift? Like a reverse animagus?” Hermione sounded thrilled and intrigued. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t know,” he explained shortly. “Head hurts. Stomach hurts. Everything hurts,” he moaned and leaned heavily against her.

“Just sit still for a moment,” she told him sharply. “I’ll make some peppermint tea to soothe your stomach.” He felt her move away and forced down the surge of panic. “Keep your eyes closed. It’ll help with the vertigo.”

Obediently he kept his eyes closed and waited. She was right. With every passing second the spinning sensation receded. But he still felt like crap.

The sharp scent of peppermint drew his focus, like a lodestone. He heard her kneeling next to him, grabbing his hand and manipulating it around a mug. He was holding a mug! He cracked his eyes open and was relieved — up was now up and staying as up. Carefully he grabbed the mug with both hands and lifted it to his mouth. It took some experimentation to ensure he didn’t spill any of the hot liquid. Once half of it was gone he felt much better. Hermione must have sensed it because she pounced.

“Okay.” She peered at his face intently. “You’re eyes are different. They aren’t gold with slit-pupils anymore. They are blue with gold flecks and round pupils.”

Smaug took a sip and swallowed before responding. “Emotional distress disrupts a complete shift from happening.”

“A complete shift? Is that what just happened? Why didn’t you tell me you could shift shape into a man?”

“Because I didn’t know. This was my first time.”

She sat back on her heels and stared at him. “You mean you did a complete self-transfiguration on your first attempt?”

He frowned and thought about it. “Yes?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Okay. I’m not going to even scream at you for the risk you just took. What if you didn’t manage a proper shift? You could have been stuck between two! Perhaps even seriously hurt!”

He shook his head. “No. It’s something dragons do.” He hesitated, doubts creeping up. “I think.”

“You mean you didn’t know?”

Smaug debated his options before deciding on honesty. “I’ve been experiencing flashbacks, memories that aren’t mine, events I know I’ve never experienced before. And they are quite safe, natural actually.”

That confused her. “What do you mean?”

Smaug rolled the mug between his hands, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “I didn’t know it but dragons pass their key memories to their descendants. We learn in the shell, what is taught to us. It seems like we also received memories of deceased ancestors. But the memories are capped until the descendant fits certain criteria.” He shrugged slightly. “It seems like I recently qualified.”

Her eyes were wide with awe. “Genetic memories? There are many theories but nothing absolute, mainly because my species is not capable of it, and if there are others that do pass down genetic memories, they didn’t share it.”

“Dragons don’t either. But I’m the last dragon so I don’t care about following traditions that died out long before I was even hatched.”

Hermione inclined her head. “I am honoured by your trust. I will not share your secrets without your express permission.”

The dragon-turned-human snorted. “I know you won’t. If I thought otherwise I would never have allowed you to find out I could shift.”

Hermione just laughed. “Okay. How are you feeling now? Do you think you can stand up and walk?” When he made to move she gripped his bicep and kept him down. “No! Let me get something that will cover you.”

She pulled out a handkerchief and transfigured it into a much larger sheet. Then she stood up and demonstrated how to wrap it around the waist and tuck the corner in the waistband to hold it in place, sarong-style. She unwound the material from around her form and tossed it towards him.

“Cover yourself up. You can use my bed to rest for a bit. I’ll get some clothes that will fit you, and set up a second bedroom for you.”

“I would prefer to have a bed in this room. It is healthier if I stay close to the gold.”

“Okay. I can use some floor screens to create a bit of private space in here.” Then she grinned. “Are you planning on changing right back or spending sometime as a man?”

He eyed her warily. “The second. Why?”

“We can go exploring together! I can show you parts of the mountain that you couldn’t fit in before: the forges and workrooms and libraries, the underground rivers, caverns and mining shafts with their metal and crystal veins.”

He relaxed a bit. “How about we stick to the libraries for now? I still have a lot of reading to catch up on.”

“What about your new memories? Will you share them with me?”

Smaug hesitated. “Perhaps. Some information is quite… personal. Others I’m still working through. It’s turned my worldview upside down.”

“When you are ready you can talk to me.”

It took him several weeks to even to even think about it, but eventually he did.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

One of the bigger battles Hermione had won against Smaug, was the freedom to travel to Laketown to sell her herbs and potions and use the proceeds to pay for her supplies. Many of the locals were curious but Hermione had avoided sharing personal information. Sooner or later they would ask questions about her ever youthful appearance. Perhaps some minor glamourie to fake aging. Or change her appearance enough to be a brand new person, or a younger relative. She did have to make some concessions to get Smaug to agree at all.

~o~

_“I’m not letting you go by yourself,” he told her flatly._

_“If it makes you feel better to follow me then fine. Just don’t make yourself known. Everyone gets nervous around you — it’s like they can sense you are a predator.”_

_He smiled smugly, taking her words as praise._

~o~

Hermione watched Smaug rip out the throats of the three men who had hurt her, killed her. She was so glad for her friend’s protective tendencies. He had taken her at her word but tried to give her space by staying a little behind, out of sight. Too much space as it turned out. Too far for him to reach her before Hermione had been stabbed through the heart.

As she lay dying she wondered if it would be a permanent death, because she had completed the task set to her by the Valar. She wondered how Smaug would react to her death, would he revert? She desperately wished she had more time with him.

Even though he cared little for mortal lives he was a sharp judge of character. He had not liked the merchant who purchased almost all of her potions, reluctantly paying the tidy price Hermione had set, because she was confident of the quality and effectiveness of her work. She used some of the gold to pick up most of the items on her list. There were a few that were not readily available but the seller promised the usual supplier was due to arrive in Laketown in the near future.

The merchant sent his private guards to rob and kill her, because as far as he was concerned, she was a single female with no male relatives, or an influential family name. And they had succeeded.

She revived coughing up blood from her punctured lung. Frantically she patted her bloodied shirt, pushing her fingers through the hole. There was no wound.

“You healed.”

Smaug was kneeling beside her, his eyes fully gold with slit pupils and no traces of white. His ears were faintly pointed, teeth sharp. He reached out to touch her chest with bloodied, claw-tipped fingers before catching himself at the last second. Smaug was afraid to touch her. Hermione was not afraid to touch him, to show she was not afraid of Him. He fought for her. He killed the men who killed her.

She sat up and threw herself into his arms, buried her face in his shoulder and cried. “I’m sorry. You were right. I should have listened.”

“I’m not going to risk you going off by yourself. Or even with me accompanying you. It only takes one incident, to separate us…” His voice trailed off and he shuddered.

“Laketown is the closest source of consumable goods. Otherwise we’ll have to travel more frequently. Unless we scavenge from Erebor’s warehouses. Even so there are foodstuffs that we cannot find in Erebor.”

“The people of Laketown must know to not touch you, to ensure you never come to harm within their walls.” She pulled away to stare at him wondering where he was going with this. “How attached are you to your anonymity?”

“What?”

“I want to make all of Laketown aware that you are under my protection, Smaug the Terrible’s protection.”

She stared dismayed wanting to protest but knowing he had a point. She really did not want anyone else to test how immortal she was, she really didn’t. Besides it could help reshape his public image in the long-run.

“I want you to listen to me. Or at least give the impression that you listen and follow my advice. They will think I can restrain you, if they make me happy — or at least not angry — then you will not attack them.”

“I can do that.”

 

~ooOoo~

 

Smaug made an example of setting the merchant’s lakeside warehouse, his work barges, his private boat, and his opulent home on fire, smashing the charred remnants with a swipe of his tail.

After pouncing on the man and disembowelling him with his claws, Smaug made a statement to everyone who was watching with terrified eyes.

“Lady Hermione is Mine. She is untouchable. If she is harmed or slighted…” He trailed off with a warning growl.

Hermione sighed and pushed forward, out from the mass of humanity. She kicked burning embers out of her path, skirting around larger chunks of debris as she made her way towards the massive dragon form of her best friend.

“Smaug… you didn’t have to make such a,” she paused and looked around, “mess,” she concluded.

“I did.” Smaug countered bluntly. “That fat fool sent his guards to kill you.” He glared at those watching. “Anyone trying something similar will Die. Painfully.”

“Just those responsible. No one else.”

He huffed and puffed before nodding. “Agreed.”

Hermione smiled brightly and turned to the residents looking at her, awe-struck by the miracle she had just seemingly accomplished: Getting Smaug the Destroyer to agree to not kill randomly and wantonly.

 

~ooOoo~

 

After Lady Hermione and Smaug the Terrible departed — she actually allowed him to grip her in his front claws, to carry her as he flew to the Lonely Mountain — the residents of Laketown held a hurried town meeting and passed a set of laws entitled “Rules Regarding The Dragon’s Lady”.

  * Lady Hermione was to be considered as foreign nobility. No one was to insult or harm her.
  * If there were any disputes it was to be reported to the Master. He would determine if it was worth the risk of potentially alienating her.
  * Anyone spotted insulting or harming her was to be detained and reported, hopefully before Smaug found out and killed him/her.
  * If Smaug found out, the guilty persons would be handed over. It was better than risking mass slaughter and property damage because a few individuals were stupid enough to trespass on a dragon’s claim.



In the decades that followed there was plenty of speculation but no one would ever even come close to identifying the exact nature of Smaug’s claim on Lady Hermione. Not until the pair chose to reveal it.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC...**

 


	3. Part I - Life in Erebor 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic sexual content ahead. Read at your own risk

Hermione Granger appeared in the middle of a mountain clearing far from Erebor and the destroyed lands around it. She had found a natural hot spring on one of her trips and made regular use of it in her free time. Like now.

Quickly she stripped off her clothes and piled them onto a low stone slab, transfigured from the more rounder one that used to be there. Then she twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with a set of chopsticks. She would love to have a proper hair claw clip but transfiguration didn’t work well for things with moving parts. And the smiths of this time did not know how to make good spring-steel, for springs tiny enough to be used in a claw clip. Perhaps the dwarves did know and could make claw clips, but Hermione was not willing to expose herself to a race that would resent her when they discovered her loyalties. Not yet.

She stepped into the pool, using transfigured stone steps before sitting down on the lowest, using it as a bench. The water felt perfect, draining away all the tension aches and soreness. The only thing that would improve the experience would be a friend to share it. Or a lover. And one name that came up for both: Smaug.

Her thoughts shifted to the dragon-man. When the Valar had given her this task she had believed it as hopeless. No one could make another change, they had to choose it, or be forced into it by threats and torture. She never dreamt that a dragon would have done so for a complete stranger. But he had for the better.

He was the perfect housemate, considerate, thoughtful, willing to listen and surprisingly compromise. He picked up after himself and was eager to learn new things, even household chores like cleaning up and doing laundry. He got bored after a month but at least he was willing to learn and do it for sometime, which was more than Ron ever did. Smaug delighted in being able to use his human shape in every way possible. Even more after he started accompanying her on her journeys.

It was on one of those re-supplying trips that they discovered her protection against physical attack was only geared towards Smaug. She could be attacked and severely injured by any other being. Even killed.

Hermione had woken up healed and confused in the middle of a bloody aftermath. Smaug had turned the ones responsible into hunks of bloody flesh in his distraught rage. After a visible demonstration of his protective claim they returned to Erebor with what she had already purchased. After a few weeks, Smaug asked Hermione to create a pair of communication amulets, so she could contact him immediately if she needed help. A much better request than Ron who would have tried to make her to stay at home.

To Hermione, her ‘death’ and revival was a mixed blessing. She had time to do everything she dreamt of doing and studying. She had time with Smaug who she had grown to genuinely like and respect. But now she doubted she would ever have the family she had always wanted. How could she marry knowing her husband would eventually die? When she did not know if she could even have children — her monthlies were very irregular and came only twice a year now. What if those children didn’t have her immortality? Could she bear to watch them age and die while she remained forever young? No, the only options for her was to marry an immortal, or long-lived being.

Elves were immortal though they could be killed in battle. They were also Fates Matched and she doubted the Valar would have considered her in their plans centuries ago and any elves born after her arrival would be children.

The Istari (local wizards) were too few and unknown. They appeared to be long-lived but were quite aged from their physical descriptions. They also had plans and loyalties that could be in conflict with hers.

Dwarves were long lived but they would die in less than four centuries. And they would not consider her as a romantic partner once they found out about her association with Smaug. And she was not going to bend to another’s opinion, never had never would.

And then there were dragons, to be more specific Smaug, since he was the only surviving sane dragon, as far as she knew. She was already too attached to him. And after he shifted forms into one physically compatible and very attractive to her… Her growing attraction/desire wasn’t helping at all.

Hermione knew she was not the type to fall in or out of love easily. She wondered how long it would take for her to get over Smaug. It wasn’t like she could distract herself by having a fling with another man. Perhaps it was time to give serious consideration to a one-night-stand during one of her long-distance trips.

~ooOoo~

 

He smelt the feminine pheromones, the tangy musky scent of arousal and desire. It was in the middle of nowhere, far from the usual roads. He could not hear the sounds of others, a lover or travelling companion or even riding beasts. Curious he made his way towards the tantalizing aroma. He could smell her more strongly now through the sharp tang of mineral laced waters. It was Hermione.

He froze and watched as she one hand cupped one breast and manipulated the nipple, while the other hand was submerged beneath the water and presumably between her legs. Her head was thrown back, her hair coiled and pinned on top of her head, small curls escaping near the hairline. Her skin damp with perspiration and condensation, her lips red and lush, lower lip caught between white teeth. She flushed a deeper pink, spine arching, lifting her torso out of the water, the enticing scent of her sharpening as she screamed.

“Smaug!”

Her body went boneless as she relaxed and sank beneath the water up to her neck panting softly in the aftermath of her pleasure.

He could not speak to her, not now, not with so many conflicting desires and thoughts.

Smaug fled from the clearing, shifting the moment he was a safe distance away. He needed some time by himself.

He retreated into his gold-strewn sleeping chamber and settled down to process what he had just seen, his reactions and blooming subconscious wants.

His first reaction was to bury everything he had just seen. To pretend it never happened. To never think about it, ever. Then he realized that was a futile endeavour because the more he tried Not to think about it, the more he Did think about it. He couldn’t get the memory out of his head. In truth was, he didn’t want to. Because he wanted Hermione Granger in more ways than just simple friendship.

She was brave, fearless, engaging, challenging… someone who would never bow or submit to him, not easily. Smaug was not certain exactly when she had made this transition in his mind — from companion to potential mate — but now that he was aware, it was impossible to ignore or forget.

Smaug had wanted her for months but had buried the desire, because he had believed she would never want him in a sexual or romantic manner, because his birth form was nothing close to hers — he was a magical creature with a massive very predatory form. The shorter lived races, especially the Race of Man tended to be rather narrow-minded in their relationship definitions. But then again Hermione had not been born in Middle Earth; she had been raised under different cultural norms; her parents had taught her to be tolerant, accepting and compassionate.

He stiffened as he experienced a memory flashback that explained a lot of what was happening to him: A dragon’s first shift was into the race with their best possible match. Smaug had shifted into a human, one whose physical form and appearance appealed to his potential mate, to Hermione.

A wide dragon-smile spread across his face as he contemplated his options and ways he could make his first move.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Hermione was not surprised when Smaug asked her to join him after she had eaten — he often did nowadays, to discuss and debate the current book Smaug was reading.

“Smaug?”

“Come and join me Hermione.”

He was lying down near the far end of the chamber, the area he preferred to sleep in. Right now his massive frame was above the piles of gold, his long neck on the ground and head closest to the four-poster bed he used when in human form.

She looked around for the chair and low table she usually used during their talks. Both furnishings were nowhere to be seen.

“There was an accident,” Smaug explained airily. “And you don’t have to bother creating a chair. Just sit on the bed.”

Hermione blinked and stared at his bed. It was massive, lush, and covered with several furs Smaug hunted himself, in human form to give himself a challenge. There was nothing wrong with sitting on a friend’s bed. ‘You’ve sat on many beds that weren’t yours,’ Hermione told herself firmly as she sat down on the edge and toed off her shoes before pushing herself back, lifting her feet and crossing them under her as before arranging her skirts to cover her legs.

And then Smaug began talking. “I was reading a volume penned by Durin the Fifth in his last decade…”

Hermione relaxed and began paying closer attention, making mental notes and matching the voiced facts against those in her memory. Occasionally she interjected with a correction or additional point from a different volume.

As time passed she shifted, lying on her side and stretching her legs out, moving her limbs against the soft fur. It felt nice. Unconsciously she tugged her skirts higher so more of her bare skin made contact with the fur. Her wool blankets were thick and warm but they didn’t feel as good as this.

“If you wish rub your entire body against the furs, feel free to remove all your clothes.”

His voice was smooth and oh-so-casual in comparison to the content. “What?”

“You seem to be enjoying the furs. Why don’t you remove your clothes and wrap yourself in one?” he asked patiently.

‘He’s a dragon Hermione. He does not think of you like that,’ she told herself firmly. ‘He does not mean any insult or innuendo.’

“I saw you in the hot spring yesterday. You were… pleasuring yourself.” She froze. “I would like to see you do it again. It was most… stimulating.”

A deep flush tinted pale skin as Hermione struggled to control her panic and arousal. She wanted to run and hide herself and never come out again. She wanted to fake a case of temporary amnesia to pretend she had never heard what he just said. She wanted to do exactly what he asked: remove all her clothes and masturbate for his pleasure and hers.

Smaug was the most brutally honest being she had ever met. He took pleasure in twisting words and truths and facts but when he chose to be honest he was Honest. And he was always Honest with her.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and forced herself to look at the single slit-pupil eye in her field of view.

“You’re serious about this.”

“Very.”

Slowly she pushed herself and up and knelt on the furs, tugging her skirts out from under her legs. She tugged the cord-bow strings at the collar that kept the tunic collar closed and grabbed the shoulders to tug the garment over her head. A wandless spell loosened the lacings of corset so there was enough give to unlatch the tiny hooks from their metal loops. The skirt was a wrap-around that was easily unknotted and removed. She hesitated before tugging the thin chemise up and over her head leaving her nude apart from old-fashioned knee-length bloomers. There were faint red marks over her torso where the corset boning had pressed against her flesh. She really missed elastic and modern bras.

“Remove them as well.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

Hermione was secretly pleased. He was affected by her! She could feel her skin flushing, her nipples hardening in response, the wetness down there.

She tugged the waist-cord tie keeping the drawers secure and slowly lay back against the furs. The tiny prickles had the perfect amount of friction and silken texture against her backside. Reluctantly she lifted her hips up to shimmy the fabric down. It was easy to push it towards her feet and kick it off. She kept her legs parted, exposing herself to him.

His nostrils flared as he shifted his head towards her.

“It was your scent that first caught my attention … ripe, musky, joyful, fearless.”

“And now?”

“I want to taste you.”

Brown eyes widened in shock, then her body and expression relaxed. “Then taste me.”

She expected him to shift and come to her as a human lover. He didn’t. His massive dragon tongue darted out and swiped over her calf and foot before edging up her inner thigh towards her core. She spread her thighs wider and rubbed her fingers over her clit, around her opening to stimulate herself, to increase her secretions.

She screamed her pleasure when his rough tongue tip swiped up against her inner thighs and up against her open slit, over her nub and soft belly. The rough nubby texture was better than any textured dildo. The only thing better would be to feel that inside her cunt, rubbing against her inner walls, splitting her open. The tip swiped over the top of her slit, over her clit. She shrieked as she came, fluids seeping from her convulsing hole. She whimpered as he lapped up the fluids making her climax a second time. The muscles in her belly felt sore. She couldn’t remember the last time she came so hard. But it wasn’t enough.

She whimpered and lifted her hips up, arching towards him. “Please,” she begged. “I need more.” She slid a hand down and slid one, two, three fingers into her clenching hole. “I need you inside me.”

He growled and lifted his head away from her and shifted.

It was a relief to see him stalking towards her. She grabbed her knees and pulled them towards her shoulders. She didn’t care that she looked like a wanton slut with a gaping empty hole. She just wanted Him.

He was kneeling on the furs between her legs, bracing her thighs apart with one forearm, two very large fingers stroking her cunt, fingers curling towards her belly button and hooking slightly on the outstroke. Helplessly she tried to lift her hips, to direct his fingers against her G-spot. He didn’t need her help. She shrieked as she came a third time.

He lowered his face to lap up her fluids. His tongue was inside her now with his fingers. His other arm was no longer holding her knees apart. His hand was under her arse, tilting her pelvis up. She slipped her legs over his shoulders, bracing her feet on his back and lifted her hips towards him. She felt him smirk against her slick flesh just before she saw stars and blacked out from the sensory overload.

 

~ooOoo~

 

When Hermione came to she was lying on her side on her spread out skirt, thighs wet and sticky with her fluids, the curls covering her groin a damp tangled mess. She could feel the hot hard male flesh pressed against her back, the semi-hard cock against her backside. If she shifted the tiniest bit it would slide between her legs along her slit.

One large strong hand clamped against her bare hip. “No,” he told her firmly. “Not until you know what you are getting into.”

She rolled onto her back so she could see his face. “So tell me.”

“No interruptions,” he warned her sternly.

“No interruptions,” she agreed.

He shifted until he was reclining against the headboard, tugging her up so she was lying against his side.

“As you know I have been experiencing flashbacks of ancestral memories. The most recent set of memories dealt with dragon sexuality and reproduction. It is completely counter to what I’ve believed and was told. It has been hard, adjusting to the paradigm shift. More so because there is no other living dragon who can verify it.

“In the distant past, before the Taint, majority of male dragons mated with the daughters of other races, because female dragons are rare, less than one out of every two hundred eggs hatched. Few survived to maturity and fewer lived through the Taint.” He could see the questions bubbling up in her expression but she remained silent and watchful. Pleased he continued. “The Dragon heritage is dominant in all offspring if the pairing is a good compatible match. If a less-than-perfect match is made the eggs will not be viable or the offspring will take after the mother, born live with most traits from the mother’s race with a few dragon traits.

“If it is a perfect match the female will conceive and birth eggs, approximately the size of a small melon, anywhere from two-to-five eggs in a clutch. The eggs harden and mature for three moon cycles before hatching. They have to be kept constantly warm, usually in a nest of sand. It’s rare for all eggs to be fertilized and viable, to hatch a healthy dragonling.

“You know dragons are possessive over what they claim. It is ten times worse with a mate and immature offspring. But the mate-bond cannot be forced, it has to be freely, willingly chosen by both halves. There have been cases of bonds failing to take, because the young dragons was tricked by females seeking immortality; anyone mate-bonding with a dragon shares the dragon’s lifeline, immortality.” He inhaled deeply. “You may ask your questions.”

“Am I compatible with you?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

She was quiet for a while. “I’m not ready to become a mother. I’m still adjusting to the fact that you want me.”

“That will not be a concern. Dragons can only conceive or sire during a rut and I’m nowhere near that stage.”

“Do you have any ideas when it will happen?”

“Ruts usually start a decade after the first shift. The first shift indicates the race the mate is most likely from. It’s usually to an appearance pleasing to the most compatible mate.”

“You shifted into a human, my favourite actor.”

“Yes.”

“Ok. So we have around five years to get settled before any children come.” She leveraged herself up so her eyes were level with his. “I want a proper home with secure spaces, one far from this mountain and any large settlement. I don’t want our children to be taken down by an archer when they are out playing.”

“Agreed.”

“Besides all these piles of gold is a massive target. I’m expecting some group to pull together an expedition to kill you and take the gold.”

Smaug frowned. “I’m not giving up the gold!”

“I’m not asking you to. We can transport a chunk of it to our new home using bottomless bags. And no one will have to know we took it unless they count every single coin in the treasury.” Her expression brightened. “Oh! We can destroy the treasury inventory records before we leave.”

He stared at her very surprised. Hermione was usually very against stealing or taking anything without payment. Seeing his expression she explained.

“You need it for your biology, to keep healthy. So will our children. We’ll leave plenty for anyone stupidly brave enough to risk going up against a dragon.”

“So you don’t care that you’re stealing from the dwarves?”

“I do. But I doubt Thror was completely honest and fair in how he accumulated all that gold. A lot of people probably suffered because he was too greedy to spend and share the wealth. Besides, if the dwarves return their population will be much smaller. They don’t need all that gold to repair and support themselves.” She snorted. “I’d like to see them try to complain about a dragon stealing from them when we will be leaving more than four-fifths of the wealth behind.”

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC…**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And what will our new couple do next? Coming up.


	4. Part II – Life as a Dragon’s Mate 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smaug and Hermione make a new home, start a family, and make waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Mostly in chronological order but there are time jumps.  
> Edited: April 15, 2015  
> Warning: graphic sexual content/birth-delivery/violence up ahead

Smaug flew Hermione to a cavern in the lower range of the Grey Mountains, at heights that were permanently covered in snow and ice. Smaug was not too fond of the cold but the cavern was good-sized and with only one easily defendable entry point. He had found it when scouting for a secondary lair, after he completed his first shift.

“It’s a cave with no path down the mountain.”

“No way for enemies to get at us.”

“So you’ll fly out and I’ll need to Apparate.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll need to build a safe point near the ground level, someplace I can Apparate to and from,” Hermione commented out loud.

“We can build a small shelter away from the wider trails.”

The couple walked into the cave, the floor and walls illuminated by the powerful Lumos charm Hermione cast. The cave was big. A perfect landing zone for a dragon. There were several openings of varying sizes in the walls, presumably into smaller caverns that they could use for their new home.

Some of the caverns were large enough to fit Smaug in his natural form. Others were small and snug, suitable to use as rooms for human-sized or small folk. Hermione was impressed when her Lumos charm turned blinding, indicating an external source of magic feeding it. Some experimenting indicated there were strong natural leylines running through the mountain range and several lines intersecting under this particular peak, a perfect source of magic to independently fuel wards and any magical defences put in place.

Yes, this was going to be their new home.

 

~ooOoo~

 

The first thing Hermione did was cast the Fidelius charm on the external entrances, so no one could stumble into their new home. Smaug was the Secret Keeper. Then she cast a set of secondary wards on the large inner cavern Smaug claimed as his new treasure chamber.

They explored the smaller caverns and decided on which ones to use and for what purposes: cooking, bathing/toilets, workrooms, master bedroom, secondary bedrooms, play caverns big enough for indoor flying when the children were still young. Once they had the general layout set they returned back to Erebor, to see what they could scavenge/pack and what would be better replaced.

It took a lot of experimentation to create the proper rune array to handle the waste disposal. She had not paid much attention to construction and home maintenance charms when she was a student but she remembered enough from an Ancient Runes assignment to break down and improve the standard magical septic system.

It was much easier to set up a water purification system since she had done it in Erebor, rather than trust one designed by a race who rarely got sick.

Next they began moving their belongings to Godric’s Peak (Hermione won the coin toss and would not give in no matter how much Smaug accused her of fixing it). It took several trips over a week, even with the five bottomless bags Hermione made. They needed to pack each bag, fly to Godric’s Peak with the five bags, unpack each one, fly back to Erebor and repeat the whole process.

 

~ooOoo~

 

The last thing they moved to Godric’s Peak was the gold. It took ten separate trips.

Smaug watched as Hermione poured the last of the gold out, to join the rest strewn in large heaps around the cavern floor. He would not be able to bury himself in the gold but there was enough to make a thick nest to lie on.

Hermione smiled brightly as she set aside the emptied bag.

“There! We’re all done.” She turned to him with an expectant look. “Any ideas on what we should do next?”

“Oh, I have plenty of ideas,” he purred just before shifting into a nude man.

It was quite handy, being able to materialize a suitable set of clothes when shifting. Idril’s memories were quite interesting with what Hermione would call practical wandless magic for dragon shifters, lessons in controlling the change, interacting with the more fragile races, with a lover in the heat of passion.

By unspoken consent they had not taken the final step, only indulging in oral sex and touch. Smaug had been afraid of losing control, of shifting at the worst possible moment. Idril’s memories assured him that would not happen. A dragon’s possessive tendencies would not allow him to harm Hermione, not physically; words were a completely different story. Smaug did not want to hurt her in any way.

She smiled as he gripped her wrists and knelt, forcing her to kneel with him on the bare stones. She allowed him to remove her cape and toss it on the floor.

“Let me,” she murmured before wandlessly transfiguring it into a soft thick pad, one large enough for the both of them. And then she sighed as he pushed her back, to lie down against the cushioned surface, and settled himself between her thighs. There was something forbidden and exciting about feeling her through layers of clothes, trying to stimulate and gauge her reactions from just her face, the tiny stifled sounds she made, the way she moved…

She whimpered and arched up against his pelvis, rubbing her clothed body against his bare skin. “Want you,” she moaned, digging the nails of one hand in his shoulder and raking the fingers of the other one through his hair. “Now!”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he murmured teasingly.

She growled, a low angry sound before pushing at his shoulders, forcing him to roll over and onto his back. Then she stripped off her bloomers and straddled his hips, completely clothed apart from one garment that left her open and wet against his stiff cock.

He was eager but still a little nervous. Sure he had plenty of memories but he had never done It himself.

She looked down at him, a little hesitant herself. “Smaug?”

“Take your time Hermione,” he assured her. “When you’re ready tell me what you want.”

“I want you. Inside me,” she blurted out.

“In this position?” he asked carefully. “Or would you prefer me on top?”

She chewed her lower lip as she considered the question. “Can we try like this first?”

His response was to set his hands on her hips, to encourage her to rise on her knees and inch forward, until she was poised above his cock. He removed his right hand from her hip and slid two fingers through her slit, into her hole, testing her arousal. She was wet, hot, tight. Perfect. He swiped the slick fingers over the head of his cock then gripped the turgid flesh, to guide it to her opening, encouraging her to lower her pelvis.

She gasped as the thicker head began stretching her opening. Once the mushroom shaped head breached past the opening the rest of his cock quickly and easily slid into her. She whimpered as he seemingly bottomed out with still an inch of shaft left.

“Easy,” he murmured as he tilted his pelvis and encouraged her to lean a little back. The slight change in angle allowed her to take him deeper within her impossibly tight cunt. Dizzily he wondered if she would always be this tight. Would it make it harder for her to lay their eggs?

She shifted, moving her hips sideways, dragging his cock against her hot slick flesh, grinding her pelvis around the base of his cock, and he lost it.

With a loud roar he swiftly reversed their positions and proceeded to thoroughly fuck all conscious thought and control out of her mind. She came once, twice, thrice from the rough, relentless stimulation, the friction against her clit, the way his pubic bone pressed against her engorged flesh on each down stroke.

When he came, flooding her insides with streams of cum, it was a welcome relief.

“Hermione?” he asked hesitantly, his voice harsh and raspy from the physical exertions.

She pressed a kiss against his sweat damp flesh and threw one leg over his hips, to keep them still joined together. “That was lovely. You were perfect.”

He relaxed and lay down against the soft padding, curled up against her. He knew they would have to separate and clean up. But not just yet, in a little while.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

They both agreed they needed more furs and hides because even warming charms had its limits. It was difficult to purchase the necessary quality of furs for extremely colds in large quantities so Smaug began hunting, clearing the mountain range of the larger predators.

He used a different cavern system lower on Godric’s Peak for processing the animals: their hides/furs for sleeping and clothes, bone for carving and permanent enchantments, their meats were either eaten by him or preserved for later consumption. Hermione did not want their living caverns to stink of tanning hides or smoked meats. She did create a stasis chest for small quantities of fresh meat. She had plans to appropriate two of the smaller unused caverns, as a freezer and cold room.

Hermione also used a different cavern system that was below the tree line to grow foods, mostly herbs, root vegetables and leafy greens, things that did not require pollination to be fruitful. There were no windows or holes for natural sunlight to get in but she remembered a magical alternative from her days in the Hogwarts Library: enchanted crystal orbs charmed to mimic day-night cycles. It took a lot of crystals to make enough orbs to light up an entire football field sized cavern but it was worth it, to have a dependable local food source that was not all meat. Hermione did not want to do hand pollination or maintain an apiary though Smaug was interested in bees. If he was willing to build a hive and look after it then she could look into adding fruit bushes and other vegetable plants.

They had moved into Godric’s Peak but they still visited Erebor, mainly to use the library, and to make resupply trips to Laketown. They had running bets on how long it would take for someone to realize Smaug had moved out of Erebor. Hermione was betting it would take a few decades for the residents to catch it, that Smaug was flying to/from a different destination. Smaug thought otherwise. Both were absolutely certain some group of mortals would show up and try to get into Erebor for the gold, dragon or no dragon.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

It had been five years since they became lovers, years where he still woke second doubting himself, because it seemed impossible, to have a willing loving partner, someone who would never leave him, would always be by his side, to even possibly have a family in the near future. Every time he voiced those doubts she responded in the same way: with a laugh, scolding, and renewed vows.

“Smaug? What’s wrong?”

He blinked and looked up. He could not remember anything read in the past hour. He had been lost in thoughts and memories.

“Nothing.” His response was short and abrupt.

She blinked, clearly taken aback by his brusque response but said nothing. Instead she nodded and turned away, intent on her own reading material.

He wanted to tear the book from her hands and toss it away. Horrified at the violent turn of his thoughts he stood up and quickly began walking away.

“I’m going hunting,” he called back over his shoulder, more intent on getting out of the suddenly stifling and confining space. He needed to feel the cool air underneath his wings, the sharp scent of pine and raw ozone.

The moment he reached a natural ‘balcony’ that opened out onto the jagged mountain side he hurled himself over the edge and shifted and flew.

The cool air helped. So did the exercise. Then they stopped working and his thoughts became muddled and feral, instinct-driven. Even chasing down lesser predators and sucking them dry for a quick energy boost didn’t sate his building blood lust. It took every bit of control to turn back and return to Godric’s Peak. If he stayed out much longer, Smaug was afraid he was going to lose himself to his instincts and ravage Laketown.

Hermione was waiting for him. She was wearing a flannel robe over the short shift she preferred to sleep in. She looked agitated, pacing around the edge of the balcony entrance. How long had she been waiting for him? How long ago had he left? He did not know.

Gracefully he fell from mid air, shifting as he fell, landing on the balls of his feet and going down on his hands and knees to spread out the impact. He straightened from his crouch vaguely aware that something was wrong. His balance was off, there was too much weight on his back. And the landing did not hurt as it should have.

He felt cool air blow against unfamiliar skin, muscles shift and clench in ways they should not when he was in human form. He had wings! Vaguely he knew he should be concerned, he should be focused on figuring out what had happened and how to fix it, but right now all he could think about was the female before him. He could almost taste her arousal in the cool night breeze, her scent was intoxicating. He had to know if she tasted as good as smelled.

He took five steps and fell down on his knees before her. He did not bother asking. He knew she would never deny him. Her robe was open and her shift pushed up and bunched around her waist. Her scent was so thick he could not resist leaning forward and running his tongue through the slit between her swollen lower lips. She tasted of musk and all the fruits she loved to eat. He could not resist consuming her secretions, thrusting his tongue along every crevasse, around her swollen clit, into her hole, her tight welcoming warmth.

She cried out and swayed, knees buckling as small tremors began to radiate from her core, up into her stomach and down into her thighs. It didn’t take much effort to cup her bum and brace her before sliding her legs over his shoulders. Now she was perfectly lined up for his tongue and teeth.

He lost count of how many times she had come. His nose, cheeks, and chin were wet with her fluids. She was crying softly, her fingers twisted in his hair, at sometimes she had tried to tug his face away from her, at others she pushed him into her. But at no point did she outright deny him. It was not enough. He needed more.

She was flat on her back on the rough granite stone. Roughly he rolled her onto her stomach and tugged her hips up, shifting her knees forward until her back was a perfect bow, shift bunched around her armpits, bum straight up, knees splayed, clear droplets leaking from pink lower lips, trailing down her thighs or splashing straight onto the stones below. Perfect.

She was so wet and ready it was like gliding through silk. He was lost in the sensations of her liquid heat clenched tight around his cock. He wanted more of her warmth, a little deeper, a little rougher, a little faster. She was screaming, begging, convulsing under him, around him. There was a gush of wet warmth around his cock, dripping on the stones but it was not enough, not yet.

He lost track of the number of times she came, each orgasm leaving her a little more tired, a little more submissive, begging him to stop and never stop. She was sore, sticky, damp from their sweat and her fluids. He had not come once.

“Smaug, please…”

She no longer tried to even influence the pace. She had learnt it was impossible to deflect a dragon in rut. All she could do was submit to save her energy and make things easier.

He was pleased with her. She was perfect. She was ripe. She was His.

She screamed as he sank sharp fangs into her right shoulder, forcing his power into her body. He could feel her magic surge and struggle for a brief instant before it bent and gave way under the force of his own magic. The moment was perfect. Her body was primed and ready for his seed.

He came with a muffled roar, flooding her with jets of cum, filling her to over flowing. She whimpered as his cum leaked out of her cunt, around his cock, smearing between their bodies. That was not acceptable.

She whimpered as he slipped out of her body, leaving her empty and aching, pearly liquid trailing down her thighs. Roughly he settled her on her stomach before rolling her onto her back and settling down between her legs. She made a soft happy sound as his cock slipped into her wet hole, muscles clenching to hold him close as she raised her knees wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs.

He began moving, slower this time, in waves, grinding his hips against hers. She still came strongly around him but this time she didn’t have to struggle to keep her balance and control her muscles.

In between her climaxes he came a second and third time, filling her to overflowing, but never stopping. The moon was setting and it was nearly dawn when he came a fourth and final time and she blacked out.

Deep inside a little voice screamed at him for his rough and primitive behaviour, for his inconsiderate actions, for hurting her with his demands. The greater part of his mind was focused on moving his mate to a secure enclosed place, a den deep within the mountain.

Once she was settled in their bed he curled around her before drawing the woollen blankets up to cover their damp sticky bodies. She was so exhausted she didn’t even open an eye throughout the whole process. Smaug knew she would have questions and demands when she woke but he didn’t care. He was pleased and smug with the outcome of last night.

Hermione did not smell ripe and ready any more. She smelled like she was carrying.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Being pregnant was awkward. Hermione had heard and seen enough from her dealings with pregnant women. Carrying eggs was even more so. They were heavy, pressing down against her pelvis and bladder making her want to pee constantly. There were no kicking or movements. As much as every pregnant woman complained about the baby keeping them up all night with the kicking, movements were signs of a healthy active baby.

Hermione could not feel any movements, kicking that would indicate a healthy developing baby. The eggs lay heavy and low within her. The only thing keeping her calm and her blood pressure down were the pre-natal spells that kept confirming she was carrying three extra small magical cores, they still alive and healthy. Smaug kept reminding her that three magical cores did not mean three eggs — it was possible she was carrying four and one was not viable. Hermione thought she was carrying only three. She hoped so. It would hurt if she had four eggs and one never hatched, a stillborn.

Now that her labour had started it was a welcome relief. She wanted to see her own feet and tie her own shoelaces. She wanted to be able to Apparate freely and go outside. She wanted to touch her eggs and do a full diagnostic check that they were healthy.

It was hot and humid. Almost like a sauna. Smaug had set several pots of water to boil and filled buckets with scalding water, to wipe down and clean up. Her thin shift was wet and clinging unpleasantly to her skin. Feeling irritated she stripped off the garment and sat down on the transfigured birthing stool. Gravity would help when it came time to deliver.

She could feel the muscles rippling through her belly. She bit down on the length of knotted linen and grimaced as her body worked, her cervix dilate, so she could lay her eggs without tearing herself.

 

~ooOoo~

 

After four hours the amniotic sac burst and a gush of water pooled around her feet on the stone floor.

Smaug checked and confirmed, “You are almost fully dilated.” He could feel the hardened shell bulging from the opening high within her. “It’s almost out,” he told her encouragingly. “Try bearing down with the next contraction.”

Hermione did and it almost popped out of her, sliding fast straight into her mate’s waiting hands. The second egg was delivered just as easily and quickly. Like Smaug had said they were both the size of small melons.

“You can touch them after the shells have dried and hardened. Half a candlemark,” he told her as he set them on the prepared sand bed, using magic and his flames to heat the sands.

She frowned but acceded. He was the expert with his genetic memories. And it wasn’t like there was a book she could read.

“Can you tell the sex?”

“Both are males.”

She nodded and then turned her focus to the new contraction rippling through her slightly flatter bump. She could still feel the weight against her pelvis. A second contraction and third did nothing to shift it into the proper position.

Smaug pressed his hands against her stomach from various angles. “It’s bigger than the first two.”

Hermione groaned. “What should I do?”

He moved behind her and slid his arms around her, under her arms, lacing his fingers over her sternum. “Stand up,” he ordered.

Obediently she rose from the birthing stool and gasped as the egg shifted and fell into a different position. He supported/guided her to move to the low platform they used as a bed, only now the feather-stuffed padding had been removed and it was covered with several cotton sheets. She groaned as she knelt on it, allowing Smaug to nudge her forward. She felt him at her back, kneeling behind her, his pelvis against her back.

“Spread your knees. Lean back,” he urged and she obeyed.

The new position helped and she could feel the egg slide into the birth canal. Two contractions later she realised the egg was not moving.

“It’s stuck!”

“Do not panic,” he ordered her, as he moved to the front.

She allowed him to rearrange her position to place her hands on the platform and crouch down until her belly was almost touching the sheets. She could feel his hand slide in, fingers spreading her apart from within, widening her near the cervix.

“This one is larger than the other two,” he told her. “With the next contraction try bearing down as I rotate it.”

His efforts to corkscrew the egg out failed.

Smaug frowned and withdrew his damp hand and met her eyes squarely. “An orgasm might help push the egg out.”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look and bluntly told him, “No.”

 

~ooOoo~

 

Thirty minutes later she changed her mind.

“Do it.”

“Birthing stool first,” he told her.

Hermione waited while he brought the stool over and set it on the sheets. He gripped her upper arms and lifted her up to sit. She was too sore to manage it herself.

She didn’t think it was possible — having an orgasm during labour — but she did.

The pleasure overrode the pain and she felt the her cervix stretch around the widest part of the egg as it shifted further down but not quite out.

“Almost there,” she gasped.

The rough edge of his nail over her clit made her come again. She shrieked as the egg slipped and began sliding down until it was lodged against her vaginal opening. She could feel his fingers stroking her flesh and the hard shell, then sliding inside her, stroking her walls from the inside.

She delivered the last egg in a gush of fluids after two more contractions.

“A female,” Smaug told Hermione as he set the egg on the sands.

“Her egg was biggest.”

“Female dragons generally are larger than the males.”

Her daughter.

She was still feeling contractions but they weren’t as strong as before.

“I think that’s it. No more eggs.”

She was right.

All that was left was waiting for three moon cycles to pass, keeping the eggs warm and safe until they were mature for hatching.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

It was nerve wracking, waiting for the hatching. Hermione refused to leave the lair. She was using her salted and dried stores to cook her meals. She was running out of ink and paper and she asked him to buy more in Laketown! She knew he was more likely to slaughter them. He still hadn’t forgotten her near assault in that wet-smelly town.

“Hermione, you need a break! It’s only been two moon cycles. There is still an entire moon cycle to go.”

“But what if the eggs start hatching early? Human babies have been born premature.”

“You’ve warded the sand nest with a dozen alarm spells.”

“I don’t want to leave them alone.”

“You need to relax.”

“I can relax while waiting here.”

He studied her intently before nodding sharply. “Very well.” And then he proceeded to strip off all his clothes.

Before she could react she was lying on the outer most edge of the hot sands. It felt like she was resting on a sun-warmed beach.

“Smaug!” she protested as he tugged her skirts up and hooked a finger into her drawers, tugging them down, ripping the delicate fabric.

She squirmed as he began rubbing her clit, stroking her slit, teasing the edge of her opening, the plump outer lips. It didn’t take long for fluid to start oozing from her hole. He thrust his fingers into her opening, stroking the narrow walls, roughly hooking his fingers towards him on the withdrawal before plunging them back in.

She was shaking now, her thighs spread wide, drawers tangled at her knees as she raised her hips towards him. She was desperate for something thicker, longer, for his cock. “Give it to me!”

He reared back, sitting on his heels as he manipulated her body, encouraged her roll onto her belly, to go up on her hands and knees, set them shoulder width apart, to dip the small of her back, thrust her arse towards him. He could see her wet pink flesh, the trails of sticky fluid trickling down her thighs.

He barely felt any resistance as he thrust home. She was so wet and aroused, like oiled silk. Perfect.

He set a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down, forcing her to rest her head on folded arms, her breasts brushing against the warm sand. She shrieked as he thrust deeper into her, the head of his cock bumping up against her cervix. He manipulated her clit with his other hand and hissed as she came around him, so tight it was almost like she hadn’t carried his eggs for nine moons and laboured to deliver them.

He lay down and rolled on his back, tugging her with him, not allowing his cock to slip free from her cunt. She was lying on her back against his front, her legs sprawled open, pressed against the outsides of his. He set one hand against her pelvis, to keep her pinned while the other hand played with her intimate flesh, stroking the thin tissue stretched around his still engorged cock. He could feel the tremors in her thighs and belly die away as the last of her climax faded.

“Dragons learn in the shell. After one moon they can hear what is happening around them outside the shell.” She stiffened and tried to roll off him. He didn’t let her. “There is nothing shameful in intimacy. I will not hide now. I will not hide after they are hatched.”

“They will have your senses. Hearing. Smell.”

“Yes. Sex and love is part of living. I will not let them grow up thinking it’s something wrong, to be hidden from others.”

Hermione was silent. She was trying to reconcile her upbringing with his demands. “It is very different from how I was brought up.”

“They are dragons, not humans.”

“All right. But I draw the line at having sex when they are in the room.”

“You know they will hear and smell it.”

“Privacy charms.”

“The ones you use are useless against me.”

“You’re older and more experienced. It just has to muffle enough for when they are too young for The Talk. I don’t want to scar them for life.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

When the first egg cracked Hermione cried out in shock and relief. Both she and Smaug watched as that first egg rocked and shifted on the hot sand before finally toppling on its side. The crack grew longer but the shell did not part. Smaug had warned her to wait and not interfere so she chewed her fingernails and watched and waited. After what felt like hours a small hole opened in the thick shell and the faintest hint of a pointed muzzle appeared. Hermione wanted to crack the shell, to help her baby emerge.

Smaug must have sensed it because he gripped her arms and tugged her back onto his lap as he sat down on a pile of furs. “No,” he rebuked her gently but firmly. “They have to emerge on their own.” And then he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her back, to anchor her.

It took ages for her eldest to manage it, to punch several holes, enough to weaken the shell and break through. Hermione wept without restraint as the little newborn dragon fell onto the hot sand. She could not resist when the little gold head lifted and her baby let out a soft inquiring chirp.

“A female.” Smaug’s voice was rich with emotion as he scooped up their daughter from the hot sands and brought her closer to Hermione, holding her in his cupped palms. She fit in his hands, much smaller than a human baby.

Her hand shook as she reached out to touch her baby. Her skin was soft and so very pliable, the scales soft.

“Yes.” She did not realise she had spoken out loud. “They will harden in seven days. But dragonlings will continuously grow and shed scales in patches until their full maturity. That will take five decades.”

Hermione cupped her hands over her daughter’s back. “She will be vulnerable.”

“They all will.”

Hermione made a mental note to start reviewing her memories for shielding and protective spells, at least against kinetic energy and projectiles.

They both gasped when the tiny dragon shifted in Smaug’s hands and became bigger, a human-sized-and-shaped baby girl with pinkish skin, a head full of light brown and gold streaked curls and blue-gold eyes.

In that moment Hermione knew her name. “Amaryllis.”

Smaug gave her a long look before he agreed. “Amaryllis, daughter of Hermione.”

Hermione unbuttoned her blouse and tugged down her chemise to bare one breast. She had been experimenting with lactation charms, in preparation for their hatching. She had planned on expelling her milk to feed her dragon children, never thought she could breastfeed them directly. Carefully she picked up her daughter and cradled her close, her solid weight and soft snuffles a warm reassurance. Amaryllis turned towards the warm softness, latched on easily and began suckling.

Smaug cupped the baby’s head and bent down to press a kiss against her head. Then he looked up at Hermione.

“The second egg should crack in the next quarter mark.”

“Is it always like that?”

“Usually. It’s rare for eggs to hatch simultaneously.”

“That’s a bit of a relief. Hopefully we can get the baby fed and settled before the next one is hatched.”

Hermione really should not have said that because the third egg cracked and started rocking right after the second.

Their second and third children, both boys, were hatched with scant minutes between them. They were both red like their father, with different gold scaling patterns on their backs. When they shifted they had the same dark curls and blue-gold eyes, younger versions of Smaug’s human form, though their ears tapered to points. Hermione immediately named them Sherlock and Singh and refused to budge no matter how undragon-like the names were.

“It will be easier for them to move around mortal societies if they don’t have a name like Smaug. Not that I don’t like it dear but you’ve built a reputation for yourself. No one would dare name a child after you.”

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC...**


	5. Part II – Life as a Dragon’s Mate 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Smaug meet the elves of Mirkwood

Hermione knew she was blessed. She had a husband who loved her, three healthy happy children, freedom to do and experiment in what interested her… and she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re right.”

Hermione blinked and focused on her surroundings. It was very different from what she last remembered. In fact it resembled the same place where she met…

“Yavanna! Aule!” She turned and smiled at the Valar. Then she frowned remembering her thoughts just before This happened. “What’s wrong? Why am I here?”

Yavanna signed. “How sad, that your first response upon seeing us is to ask ‘What’s wrong?’ instead of greeting us.”

Hermione frowned. “If you wanted flowery greetings and politeness you would have brought an elf into this astral space.”

Aule laughed. “She does have a point dear.” Then he turned serious. “Speaking of elves…”

“What about elves?”

“We need you to mend the rift between the Races of Arda… in particular the breach between my children and Eru’s.”

“And to forge a bond between Aule’s children and mine,” Yavanna added.

Hermione groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Dwarves and elves take every opportunity to rub each other wrong and fight!”

“Hermione, you were only supposed to cleanse the Taint so Smaug would change and leave. You weren’t supposed to stay.” Aule told her bluntly. “The others wanted to remove you but Yavanna and I pointed you were a good positive agent of change. It would be to our benefit to not remove you. Eventually they agreed, if you would continue to work for us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“There was no reason to disrupt your happiness. We didn’t have a new task to set.”

“And you are a good child who would never say no, not if it would help others in the long run,” Yavanna murmured. “Besides, you worked a miracle with Smaug. Surely it wouldn’t be so hard to manage one with the elves and dwarves.”

“Smaug was one dragon. You’re asking me to change an entire society, shift a cultural mindset!”

“If you plant seeds early enough the roots will be too deep to be torn out,” Yavanna commented in a slightly distant voice. “You need to start now, to ensure the ties are strong when Arda desperately needs all the Races to stand together.”

Hermione went very still. “Mordor? Sauron?”

Aule’s expression was very grim. “Yes. Not soon for mortals but too soon for immortals.”

“Time does pass differently when you have eternity,” Hermione mused. Then she groaned. “I can’t pull misdirection tricks with elves. They’ll sense something is off. And if I hide from them they won’t ever trust me.”

“And won’t it benefit you to have friends who you can talk to without hiding so much of yourself?” Yavanna asked gently.

“And much as I hate to say it, who better than to be friends to an immortal witch than an immortal race?” Aule added with a faint grin.

“Do this and you won’t have to worry about ever being parted from your mate, even in death,” Yavanna promised. “You will be marked as a child of Arda until the End of Days.”

Hermione sighed and squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do my best to broker a peace and alliance.” She bit her lower lip. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Work on your mate first,” Aule advised. “If he doesn’t agree it will be hard to interact with the elves and dwarves.”

“His temper is rather sharp when interacting with anyone but myself and the children,” Hermione admitted.

“He is suffering from battle lust,” Aule explained. “Direct him to sate his instincts by engaging the orcs in the south. They are venturing out of Mordor, testing and seeking out weaknesses and openings for the war to come.”

Yavanna frowned. “They grow too bold. Right now no one notices because they target the smaller settlements and individual family holdings, not the larger towns.”

“Someone is directing them.”

“Yes. Azog. He is one of the key lynchpins.”

Hermione nodded. “Okay. I’ll point Smaug at the orcs. Once he’s a little calmer I’ll talk to him about the elves. If we can develop a good relationship with them now it will help once the dwarves come back.”

“And my children are too fond of gold. They were not always like this, gold sick. It is a curse passed down from one of Durin’s line ingesting Tainted dragon’s blood.”

“I’ll start reviewing my curse-breaking notes. I might be able to make an antidote from Smaug’s now-unTainted blood.”

“Good,” Aule stated firmly. “They will be more open and receptive with the curse gone.”

“And I want my children tied strongly to my husbands children,” Yavanna explained. “They will be arriving with my daughter. She is important. If she is committed to Erebor, to the dwarves it will shift the board.”

“So you want her to move to Erebor?”

“I want her to marry a dwarf.”

Hermione stared at the steely-eyed goddess. “How on earth do you expect me to do that? I can’t make her fall in love with a dwarf!”

Yavanna smiled serenely. “You won’t have to. She’ll already love him. You’ll just have to smooth the way for them to have a relationship. Aule’s children are a bit on the stubborn side you know.”

“Great. Why don’t you ask me to pluck the sun and the moon while I’m at it.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Hermione Granger spent a long time thinking about the new task set to her by the Valar. This was going to take a lot more effort in laying ground work with all the various races involved. Thank Merlin she’d gotten an early in with the Men of Laketown.

When she was not thinking about the ways she could bring about acceptance and tolerance between dwarves and elves she worried about her children. Hermione Granger was mother to three very active and curious toddlers who were always exploring and asking questions. They wanted to know more about other people, other races, to interact and play with those their own age and sizes. Hermione also knew everyone feared or hated their sire, or at least his old persona. They did not know Smaug had changed, that he regretted his past choices and wanted to move past them. She wanted her children to be safe when they were ready to venture out and explore. She didn’t want them hated or shunned because their father had a bad reputation.

“They will need friends, people who they can talk to,” she argued.

“They are dragons. They don’t need to socialize as much as you think,” he countered.

“Really? Is that what your genetic memories are telling you?” she asked sceptically.

He opened and then shut his mouth without saying anything because it would be a lie. Even dragons socialized, just not as much as mortal races did. And it wasn’t just their offspring; Hermione also needed other adults she could talk to, to get perspective or even just to vent. But who?

“The residents of Laketown are too fearful or awestruck to really talk to me, but the elves won’t be that easy to influence. They will be wary but not violent.”

“You don’t know that! They have long memories and have every reason to hate my kind. Once they find out you are my mate you will be hated as well.”

“Some of them are old enough to know first-hand what dragons were like, once upon a time. They will believe and give us a chance.” Hermione reached out and gripped her mate’s hand. “Please Smaug, we have to try.”

His expression shifted minutely as he struggled to come to terms. It was several minutes before he finally spoke. “Very well. We can try. But if the elves threaten us—.”

“I can Apparate all of us out. I’ll even make Portkey amulets.”

Smaug gave her a wary look. “All of us? I thought you were going to talk with the elves first, to open negotiations.”

Hermione smiled smugly. “I am. And Amaryllis is going to be my distraction.”

“Hermione!”

“She can charm birds from trees. And elves are very fond of children. They will give you a chance so they can play with her.”

Smaug huffed. “Then why don’t we make this a family trip and take the boys as well?” he asked sarcastically.

“That’s a great idea.”

“Hermione!”

Smaug tried but once Hermione got an idea into her head it was impossible to distract her. Not permanently.

Two weeks later the family of five set off for Mirkwood.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Thranduil was surprised. Something very rarely experienced by older elves, especially one trained in statecraft as he.

“Repeat yourself,” he ordered in a carefully bored tone.

“There is a mortal family, a couple with three children less than five years of age.”

“And they crossed Mirwood without being spotted by any of the scouts and without any pack animals?”

The guard winced. Said like that it did some unbelievable. Then he stiffened his shoulders. “I did not see any pack animals. They may have been lost in the journey.”

“And they asked for an audience?”

“Yes Your Majesty.”

Thranduil’s first instinct was to say no, to order the guards to send them away, with an escort out of the more dangerous parts of Mirkwood. Then he remembered there were children, three young ones who were probably tired and hungry from the journey. Children were the only reason why he changed his mind.

“They may stay for the night. Tomorrow a pair of scouts will escort them out of Mirkwood.”

“And the audience they requested?” the guard asked daringly.

Thranduil snorted. “I will grant it. I am curious what made them start such a dangerous journey with no trained warriors to guard them.”

He picked up a goblet of wine and began sipping thinking about his own child and what could have driven a parent to risk a child. It had to be important to them, but how could it involve the elves of Mirkwood?

He coul hear the soft steps of hardened leather on polished stone, the childish giggles and hushes of parents admonishing them.

They were young and attractive but not beautiful like elves were. None could match the beauty of the First Race, except the Valar. The man was definitely a warrior though more leanly built and carrying no discernable weapons. Perhaps hidden blades? He wore oddly plain but tailored clothes made of silk and wool. The woman was dressed in similar tailored pants though her top was a familiar tunic made of embroidered cotton. The three children — two identical males and a slightly older/bigger female — were dressed in more familiar loose tunic and pants worn by the children of men, the sons in red and brown, the daughter in ochre and brown.

It was the wife who stepped forward and bowed shallowly to Thranduil.

“Greetings King Thranduil, Ruler of Mirkwood formerly known as Greenwood. My name is Hermione, this is my husband Khan,” she indicated the man. “And our children, Amaryllis, Sherlock, and Singh.”

Thranduil arched a brow but said nothing. It did not affect the woman as she continued seamlessly after a small pause.

“We wish to trade with the elves of Mirkwood.”

“And what do you have that could interest me?”

“Information.”

That changed everything. Even a peasant could stumble across valuable information by sheer chance. Few had the wit to recognize the value. Then again some over-exaggerated the value to get a better price.

“And how much will this valuable information cost?”

“Not a single gold coin.” She didn’t say anything about gems or mithril. “Nothing material,” she added, seemingly reading his thoughts. “What we seek is neutrality and trade, an alliance once there is trust.”

“Neutrality is acceptable provided you are not a threat. Trade depends on what you are wishing to sell. What is this information?”

She met his eyes squarely like few could. “You and all who hear this cannot share or spread the information to others by any means, until the dwarves return to Erebor.”

Thranduil wanted to laugh out loud. There was no down side from what he could see. If the information was truly critical he could send agents to acquire it by other means and send it on to his allies.

“Agreed.”

She smiled broadly and held up a hand that glowed white. “Then you are bound by your words and so are all present.”

“Istari!” The guards backed away, a few more inexperienced ones drawing their weapons. The female Istari did not look away but lowered her hand, glow fading.

“No one has heard anything of import. Anyone not wishing to be geas bound can leave. All but you King Thranduil.”

An Istari. This changed everything. Thranduil did not know of any Istari who had married much less had children. And last he heard there were no female Istari. When had this changed?

He ordered everyone to leave with sharp gestures. Only his senior and most trusted guards and advisors would hear what the Istari had to tell. After some thought he indicated for Glorfindel to stay as well. If needed he could return to Lothlorien and hopefully Galadriel would see enough to inform the White Council. Once the hall was cleared Thranduil spoke directly to the Istari.

“What information do you have?”

“The dwarves will return to Erebor. You must be prepared to deal with them in the coming centuries. There is conflict building and it will require all the Races to fight.”

Thranduil snorted. “There is always conflict. But the dwarves returning to the Lonely Mountain? That will never happen. The dragon will never leave that hole and Thror’s ill-gotten gold.”

Hermione smiled sharply. “But he has.”

“Indeed I have.”

It was the Istari’s husband, Khan, who spoke as he strode forward and stopped several feet away from everyone. And then he _shifted_. The clothes he wore shimmered and slit open allowing for a pair of large _dragon wings_ to emerge from his back and fold back into a cape-like affair. His ears became noticeably pointed, eyes gold with no whites. A line of red scales appeared down each side of his neck disappearing into the collar of his purple shirt. He strode forward uncaring the guards rushing forward with weapons drawn.

Pure Elvin steel deflected off wool clothed forearms. Another blade was caught in a bare hand, steel shrieking as claw-like nails dug into the metal, gouging and destroying the once flawless blade.

Thranduil hesitated. Enemies who did not fall under Elvin steel always required a special weapon forged for a particular purpose. But apart from deflecting weapons this not-man had made no move to attack. “Hold your positions!” he shouted and everyone present obeyed with one particular exception.

Glorfindel rushed forward and threw his arms around the not-man.

He leaned back to look the not-man straight in the face “The Valar have truly smiled upon me,” he declared. “A dragon has broken free from the Taint.”

The not-man smiled hesitantly. “You are,” He named an unfamiliar musical name from the Old Tongue used in the First Age.

Glorfindel smiled fondly. “My name is Glorfindel. He was my grandfather.”

The not-man nodded. “I remember. Idril’s favourite debate partner.”

“Idril saved his life and introduced him to my grandmother. Grandfather mourned when Idril died, when the dragons were Tainted, but he never lost hope. He asked me to wait and watch until the last dragon died, or one broke free from the Taint, before sailing West.” He smiled. “And it has happened!” He cocked his head. “May I ask how?”

The dragon-man (Smaug?) smiled and gestured to Hermione and the young ones. Hermione moved quickly, fearlessly, until she was standing next to him, her fingers lacing through his claw-tipped ones. The male children clung to their sire’s trousers while the female stood in front looking straight up at Glorfindel. She held her arms up in a universally understood demand. Glorfindel chuckled and crouched slightly to wrap his arms around her legs and lift her up.

“Hermione is my mate, my perfect match. It took her years to purify the taint and straighten out my mind, but she did it.”

“And you are no longer residing in Erebor,” Glorfindel concluded shrewdly.

“Not for ten years. It was one of her conditions for accepting me. Hermione insisted the dwarves would be returning eventually and it was better if we moved out first.”

Thranduil could not tolerate it, could not stand by and watch Glorfindel the balrog slayer fawn over a beast. “Smaug the Terrible! Leave! I will not treat with a dragon!”

Hermione frowned. “Dragons were victims of the Great Wars. They were twisted and tainted much like elves were broken and reshaped into orcs.”

Thranduil stiffened. Outsiders were not supposed to know That. It was a closely guarded shameful secret of elves. “Who told you that?” he hissed.

She gave him a sharp disapproving look. “The Valar. Unfortunately there is little that can be done for them, the adults. I could try undoing some of the damage if the orc was young enough.”

“Forget about the orcs! Your dragon mate slaughtered hundreds! Thousands!”

“Just like every other race has in open and covert war,” Hermione murmured with a sad expression. “King Thranduil, an eye for an eye simply makes the world go blind.”

“Dragons killed my father. Destroyed me!” Thranduil snarled.

She gave him a sceptical look. “Destroyed you? I don’t see— Oh!” She looked more sympathetic. “You’re using a glamourie.” She moved towards him and reached up to grab his chin and tilt his head to one side. Her grip was firm but not painful. She ran her fingers precisely over the worst of the scarring, up towards his empty eye-socket. How could she— “My people use a lot of glamourie and misdirection charms. Those magicks have a mark to those who know what to look for.” She released his chin and stepped back. “I can heal your wounds. I cannot promise hundred percent recovery but you will be in less pain and more mobile. Scarring will be removed or glamouried. Will you accept this as wergeld?”

Thranduil thought about it. Dragonfire wounds were impossible to heal fully, or at least to an almost pain-free level. There were dozens of elves still suffering from old wounds in Mirkwood alone.

“Only if you heal all elves who are suffering from dragon fire wounds.”

Hermione frowned. “How many?”

“There are at least thirty in Mirkwood, another two hundred or so in Rivendell and Lothlorien. The rest of the survivors have already sailed West.”

“For now I’ll heal the elves in Mirkwood only. After the dwarves arrive you can send a message asking for the others to come to Mirkwood or make arrangements for me to visit and stay for a few months.”

“That is acceptable as wergeld.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Glorfindel never thought he would enjoy his time in Mirkwood. He fully expected it to be a chore, an unwanted duty to liaise with Thranduil. He never imagined it would be the opportunity to see an Untainted dragon, one with a perfect match and a healthy lively clutch. It had been so long since Glorfindel had the opportunity to play with children without worrying about losing them to death. Oh he had seen plenty of playmates and young one die and few who chose to sail to Valinor but he didn’t have to worry about these young ones suffering from Age and Time.

He stroked the spine of the little gold dragonling perched along his forearm, her slim strong tail wrapped around his upper arm. Amaryllis was particularly bold and unafraid of showing off her dragon shape to the more open-minded elves.

“Play!” she chirped, kneading her claws into his wrist, but gently enough to not draw blood. “Fly!”

Obediently he jerked his arm up, tossing her into the air. She shrieked with joy as she spread her still immature wings and tried to catch an updraft to glide down. She was too young and lacked the strength to launch herself into flight.

Grandfather told him tales of baby-sitting Idril’s last clutch. Most of his stories were about the rambunctious, destructive nature of dragonlings who thrived on getting into mischief, especially in the artisan and jewellers districts. Amaryllis was quite good at controlling her strength for one so young. But then again Hermione had said all three of her children shifted minutes after they were hatched.

“Thank you for babysitting Amaryllis,” Hermione murmured as she moved to join him in the middle of the carefully tended clearing. “She’s more fond of playing with strangers than hunting like her brothers.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Glorfindel told her sincerely. “You’re doing a great favour to my people, by healing wounds that have been open and raw for centuries.”

“It is the first step for peace and acceptance,” she told him. “The Valar has warned me of darkness coming. It may take decades or even a few centuries but it will come.”

“And we will be ready,” Glorfindel assured her. “When you are ready send word to Rivendell. I will be your Voice.”

“Thank you,” she told him with a grateful smile.

They spent several minutes watching Amaryllis glide and fly until she came down in a controlled descent. By this time the dragonling had drawn enough of an audience, including a few bolder souls who volunteered to be her launcher. Glorfindel and Hermione observed a few tosses before stepping back to watch them play.

“Grandfather told me dragonlings gobble up gold and gems like candy. I haven’t seen any of your children chewing on jewellery or decorations.”

Hermione snorted. “Dragons who are in their natural-born shape are more strongly affected and greedy. It’s a biological need for specific trace elements. I try to encourage my children to not shift, since it is easier to lose control in the immature body and mind of a dragon, not unless they are supervised or older. I do feed the hunger by lacing my cooking with gold shavings or jewel dust.”

Glorfindel grinned. “I have an old recipe for mithril dust laced jellies.”

“Would you be willing to share it? Or make it? I have mithril dust.”

“I have the recipe back in Rivendell. After I return I’ll send it to you. Through Thranduil?”

“If he is willing. Or a letter to Laketown would work. Direct it to Bard the Bargeman and he will pass it to me.”

They watched Amaryllis shriek and laugh as she tried different loops and gliding techniques to land on top of a young elf’s head with hardly any impact.

Hermione saw the tranquil peaceful look on Glorfindel’s face and it worried her. It was the look of a man who was at peace, ready to accept anything that came his way, even Death. She did not want this elf to sail to Valinor, not the first one who openly greeted her mate with no fear.

“Do not sail to Valinor.”

Glorfindel jerked and looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“You look too peaceful, ready to leave the mortal world behind. Don’t.”

The elf shook his head. “I have been given a duty by the Valar. I will not sail before I complete it.”

“Don’t sail even if you do,” Hermione urged. “We will miss you dearly.”

“You do not understand what you are asking of me.”

“I’m asking you to give yourself a second chance, time to forge a new life.” She looked directly ahead. “My mate only has memories of a different time. Sometimes he doubts himself. It would help if he could talk to someone who knew when things were different, someone other than his family who believes in him.” After a few seconds she added, “Amaryllis will miss her favourite baby-sitter.”

Glorfindel looked down at the much shorter female for several seconds before he finally inclined his head. “I will stay until your clutch has matured.”

“Thank you.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

“I’ve healed fifteen cases completely. There are six that need more extensive treatment and special supplies. It will take Two months to grow and harvest herbs with the proper potency. Seven cases will not make a full recovery but have regained significant mobility. I have some ideas to bridge the rest but it will take time and some experimentation. I can come back in three months with the necessary supplies to complete the treatments.”

Thranduil never expected Lady Hermione to succeed but she had, on an unprecedented scale too! Old scarring were removed, atrophied muscles rebuilt and reconditioned, missing parts regrown. Even the renowned elven healer Lord Elrond of Rivendell could never have even come close to accomplishing what Smaug’s Istari mate had done.

She had healed Thranduil, removed the scarring, restored the withered muscle and re-grew the lost eye. It was still jarring for the Elven King since he had to relearn how to move and fight with his old grace.

“How?” he asked.

“How what?”

“How can you heal dragon fire wounds so effortlessly? How can you do what our best healers failed to do?”

She stared at him with those ordinary brown eyes and shrugged faintly. “Before I met Smaug I worked on a project to develop better treatments for fiend fyre burns. It’s worse than dragon fire because fiend fyre is dark magic and truly cursed. This dragon fire was only tainted which still makes it hard to treat and heal, because your healers are not experienced in interacting directly with curse energies. That was my job before I came to Arda. My people have laid and broken curses ever since we learnt how to use magic.”

Thranduil absorbed the information and nodded slowly. If she said fiend fyre was worse he never ever wanted to see or experience it.

“You have kept your end of the bargain. Your clan has an alliance with Mirkwood.”

She smiled brightly and pulled something out of her belt pouch, a mirror the size of her palm set in a brass frame. She held it out to Thranduil who took it, examined the front and the back. There were carvings on the back, unfamiliar runes and quartz stones set around the rim.

“What is this?”

“It is a communication mirror linked to one I have. If you ever wish to speak to me just hold it in your bare hand and speak my name. I may not be able to answer immediately but when I can I’ll contact you so keep the mirror with you. The gems will glow when I’m trying to get in touch with you. Once a two-way contact has been established the glow will fade.”

“I understand.” Thranduil understood the value of a near-instant communication method. Most elves could learn the skill to scry but a rare few could manage a two-way communication, mostly through writing down messages the other side ‘saw’. “Would it be possible to purchase more of these mirrors?”

Lady Hermione eyed him shrewdly. “Perhaps. We can discuss the possibility on my next visit to Mirkwood.”

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC...**


	6. Part II – Life as a Dragon’s Mate 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard the Bargeman muses on Lady Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline is almost matching up with The Hobbit

All of Laketown whispered of the witch who purchased food with Erebor gold. At least once a year the dragon would carry her down from the mountain side and drop her on the shores of the lake near the largest piers. Then she would walk up to the main gates, to enter Laketown and go to the markets. None of the traders or stall-owners dared to refuse her patronage. She was on good terms with Smaug the Terrible! If they offended her she would complain to the dragon, and He would drive them out of their water-logged homes. Few had the wealth to build in stone. Most of Laketown was built of wood, on legs to keep above the water, close to one of the few stretches of still fertile ground.

Bard frowned as he watched the massive bulk of the dragon land almost delicately, like a bird on the two back-end clawed feet. One of the front claws lowered to the ground and opened, allowing the witch to walk uninjured and free. She was dressed in a mid-calf length doe-skin skirt and lace-up hide boots. Her top was covered by a waist-long felt hooded cape. As she drew closer Bard could see her brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, her skin was faintly golden and clear of paints used by wealthy ladies.

“Slut.”

“Whore.”

“Traitor.”

“Witch.”

“Servant of Darkness.”

“Dragon’s pet.”

They were some of the more vaguer taunts and slurs. Bard was slight more concerned about the mutterings describing more detailed threats against the female. He drew some comfort from the fact the mutterings and grumblings would remain just that. No one would dare risk attacking someone who had the protection of a dragon.

Bard was much more concerned about the ones envying her situation; who wouldn’t want the protection of a dragon and gold that would take hundreds of lifetimes to spend? And her eternal youthful appearance, her immortality, it had to be a boon from being the pet of an ageless creature like a dragon. Bard feared at some point someone would be delusional enough to take that risk, to remove her so he/she could take her place as Smaug’s pet human. Bard was not one of those idiots. It would take someone very special to draw and keep the attention of a dragon, to cool and temper his killing rages. It had been decades since Smaug’s last rampage. More than a century when before they could time the seasons by Smaug’s excursions to indulge in blood lust. Bard could remember his father’s tales and admonishments to ensure she was never attacked by a resident of Laketown.

He watched as she entered through the lesser gate and make her way to the main market, as she always did. She listened politely to gossip but never reciprocated. She made her purchases and always left in two bellmarks, three on a few rare occasions, mostly when she was intercepted and engaged in conversation by the Master of Laketown. The Master had tried to secure her allegiance and influence on many occasions and failed miserably. Now he never even bothered trying. Bard smiled as he remembered Lady Hermione’s expression — curdled milk — as she listened to the foolish man ramble on about loyalties to one’s species and one’s betters.

~o~

_“I have watched men and women kill each other for both petty and significant reasons. Loyalty to species is stupid if it means being loyal to villains, cutthroats, and bigots.”_

_“But my Lady, surely you don’t—”_

_“Actually I do. I find you a narrow-minded sycophant more interested in gold than serving your people. I am not interested in allying with such an individual. Besides, you can never match what Smaug gives me.”_

~o~

The Master thought it was gold. Bard personally thought otherwise. Lady Hermione was not the type to care much about gold, other than using it to buy food to fill her belly and clothes to wear. She was a distant and stand-offish, but when something caught her interest — usually something to do with a scholarly or crafting matter — she looked quite pretty, all fiery and animated. He wondered what kind of conversation she could have with a dragon whose interested were focused on gold and jewels. And why did she stay with Smaug? There had to be a good reason, but what?

 

~ooOoo~

 

One bellmark later Bard tied up his barge and jumped onto the pier. The remaining barrels could wait. The dockworkers were hungry and so was Bard.

“Have you heard? They found Kerv in the alley between the brothel and the market proper.”

Bard lifted his head. Kerv? What was he doing out so early? Usually he was sleeping off the previous night’s indulgences until after midday.

“He attacked Her.”

Bard pushed his way towards the speaker, Seth, a chandler’s apprentice. “Her?”

“Lady Hermione.”

That rocked everyone back on their heels. Bard was worried now. Did they have to keep an eye out for a vengeful fire breathing dragon now?

“She’s fine but Kerv isn’t.” Seth paused, relishing in being the focus of so much attention. “He was shredded.”

Bard blinked. “You mean stabbed, don’t you?”

Seth shook his head. “I found the body when making a delivery to Madame Lula. He was shredded. It was like an animal worked him over thoroughly. But no one heard anything.”

“Where was Lady Hermione?”

Seth shrugged. “He attacked her in full view of the market. Old Lady Rima’s grandson, Evan, he rescued her and escorted her to the gate a bellmark ago.”

“And you found Kerv…?”

“A quarter bellmark ago. Master Roscoe sent a runner to fetch Alfrid. I doubt he’s going to come out for a troublemaking drunk like Kerv.”

Bard looked around. “Did anyone see anyone who could have done it?”

Everyone shook their head in unison. “Kerv is a mean as a snake but mostly venomous. Everyone just ignores him.”

“The only thing he did differently was attack Lady Hermione.”

In unison all heads turned towards the Lonely Mountain, Smaug’s lair, and shuddered as one. Each of them could imagine what Smaug would/could do.

“Was it Smaug?” Seth asked going pale enough for his freckles to stand out.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Leif scoffed. “Smaug is a huge dragon. A bit hard to not see when he’s flying straight for Laketown. Besides, if it was him he would have burned the whole town to cinders.”

“So what was it?”

Leif shrugged. “Some sort of beast?”

“A beast that snuck in and targeted a single man without being spotted?”

“What if it starts targeting others?”

Bard raised his voice sharply. “Enough! We’ll worry about the beast if it keeps killing. Until then everyone keep an eye out for any signs of it.”

 

~ooOoo~

 

Hermione looked straight at Smaug. He was standing stock still in the middle of the entryway to her workroom. He was in a great deal of emotional turmoil to remain in a partial shift, with slit-pupil gold eyes, pointed ears, and clawed hands clenching into fists and uncurling and repeating.

She did not have to ask her mate what was bothering him. She knew he had neutralized the threat in Laketown. He would not let someone who assaulted her to remain free and to possibly do it again. He had slaughtered the men who assaulted and killed her. But this was different… the first sentient Smaug had Chosen to track down and kill in humanoid form. It was different when one made the conscious decision to hunt down a target, when one was close enough to see the eyes and choose to take a sentient life.

Hermione walked until she was standing right in front of him and lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, to stand on tiptoe and draw him down for a chaste press of lips. She felt him shudder and break the kiss to press his forehead against her shoulder. She hummed a familiar lullaby as she ran her fingers of one hand through his hair. She knew enough to wait until he was ready to hear her words.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC…**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, the dwarves return to Erebor.


	7. Part III – Return of Durin’s Line 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s company finally reaches Erebor. Only things are not quite as they expected it to be. Where is the dragon? Who is this female Istari? Lots of adjustments, new friendships, and matchmaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle of Five Armies? Did not happen. Smaug took care of the orcs, culling them down before they could amass.

Gandalf watched the dwarves jest and goad each other, to juggle plates, cutlery, knives. Poor Bilba was running around trying to stop them from damaging Belladonna’s best china and silver. Thorin was sitting slightly apart and watching, though his eyes more often than not drifted towards Bilba. He seemed both confounded and curious.

As much as the Grey Wizard wanted to meddle, and smooth over Bilba’s understandable fears, there were other more weighty matters tugging at his attention. He had not told the dwarves all the facts, mainly because most of them were not verifiable — not without going to the Lonely Mountain himself — but some pretty reliable sources had indicated that the dragon was gone. At least on a temporary basis. He was still sighted around Longlake and mostly closer to the Grey Mountains. It was possible Smaug had chosen to make a secondary lair but Gandalf had no idea why the dragon would ever leave the gold behind. It wasn’t like he could have moved it. Not without a caravan and crew. Such an effort would have slipped out within days of being started. And even with threats from a dragon there were always a chance of fools risking their lives for gold.

And then there were the whispered rumours coming out of the Laketown that worried the wizard. An immortal witch who had charmed the dragon and was living under his protection? Wizards were long lived but they were not immortal, not like the elves were. Perhaps it was just the imaginings of uninformed minds. But then again maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Smaug had come under the sway of dark influences, just as Gandalf had feared ever since the dragon drove the dwarves out of Erebor.

But was she truly evil? Radagast had insisted the evil aura around the Lonely Mountain and the Desolation had been receding in the past fifty decades. Was it the witch’s influence? If yes then maybe she was not all evil.

Evil or good she was a potential threat, an obstacle that would need to be overcome for Thorin to win back his kingdom. They would only find out for sure after they reached Erebor. Gandalf hoped Bilba would change her mind and join the Company. The dwarves would need every bit of luck and then some to arrive at their final destination.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

By a whole lot of luck and sheer stubbornness the entire Company reached Laketown with their skins more-or-less intact, but their packs much lighter than what they started off with. It would have been worse if it wasn’t for the unexpected hospitality in Mirkwood. Thorin had honestly expected to be thrown in the dungeons after being rescued by the wood elves — dwarves and elves didn’t have the best relationship — but instead Thranduil had interrogated Thorin and his company in front of his court.

~o~

_“And where exactly is your final destination?”_

_Thorin remained tight lipped. He owed Nothing to this faithless elf._

_Thranduil’s lip curled in a faint sneer. “I do not need to even hear the answer. You are travelling to the Lonely Mountain. To claim your gold from the dragon’s claws.” He looked annoyed and resigned. “Go and meet your doom.” But he was smiling, a smug knowing smile that made Thorin want to hit him._

~o~

Now that Thorn could see Laketown with his own two eyes he understood Thranduil’s secret amusement. Laketown was not as poor and fearful as Thorin had believed, ever-fearful of a dragon casting its shadow on its folk. They were not rich but they were comfortable. There were no large regular caravans or huge trading barges to float to other lands, not without goods from the dwarven craftsfolk of Erebor, but they were managing. And they presumably had good relations with the elves of Mirkwood for Thranduil to be so well informed of the situation.

They found an inn closest to the gate facing the Lonely Mountain and rented rooms for three nights, to re-supply and recover from their travels. Innkeepers, in Thorin’s experience, came in two flavours: loose-lipped and tight-lipped. Thankfully thiis one seemed to be the latter.

Everyone met in the room Thorin was sharing with Dwalin and Balin after supper.

“I don’t understand Uncle,” Kili was the first to speak. “No one was talking about the dragon. In fact there was some discussion about rebuilding the old city of Esgaroth once they had enough surplus to hire proper masons and builders.”

Thorin frowned. “Are they going to send for builders any time soon?”

Kili frowned. “No. One man said it was best to wait. Because the Lady said the dwarves would be returning soon and it would be better to trade food stuffs for stone and skilled dwarven builders.”

“Lady?” “Who?” “How did she know?”

“Silence!” Thorin roared over the babbling voices. Once everyone quieted he spoke. “It would not have been hard for Thranduil to have sent a message to his contact in Laketown, presumably this Lady, of our impending arrival.”

“So what do we do?” Fili asked.

“We press on. It’s almost Durin’s Day and we can’t risk missing it. Otherwise we’ll have to wait another year to use the key.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Bilba Baggins warily looked down the long dark tunnel with a soft light at the far end. Was it dragon fire or some other lighting? Bilba did not want to be roasted but she had promised to help the dwarves win back their home from Smaug, she had signed a contract to be Thorin’s burglar, to steal the Arkenstone from the dragon’s horde.

“Are you ready lass?”

‘No, but I don’t have much of a choice but to go forward,’ Bilba mused inside her head. Then out loud she answered Bofur. “Yes.”

Bilba walked down the tunnel. Once she was past the mid-way point she tugged the ring out of her coat pocket and put it on. She was invisible now and pretty good at sneaking around soundlessly now. As long as the dragon did not smell her too quickly she had a pretty good chance of getting a good look for the Arkenstone.

The light was much brighter now. She was at the end of the tunnel. Bilba paused for a few minutes to steel her nerves. Then she stepped out on her toes, walking slowly on the carelessly strewn piles of gold coin. She did not want the coins to shift and make any noise.

Bilba did not know all her care was for naught, someone had known the moment she stepped out of the tunnel and into the treasure room.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Hermione looked up at the softly glowing polished quartz chunk hanging from a silver chain looped over one of the many nails in her wallboard. The quartz was one of many stones on the wallboard, each linked to various ward schemes and defences Hermione had set up around Erebor.

“Someone has entered the treasure room.” There was no one to hear her but it made her feel better to voice her thoughts out loud. “It has to be dwarves. They are the only ones who would have knowledge of the hidden passages. And they would never share it with other races.”

Her mind worked swiftly as she checked the protection amulets on her family. Smaug and their youngest children were in Erebor, playing in the lower crystal caverns. It looked like the intruder was in the treasure chamber, far from her mate. It looked like only one had crossed the ward boundary. It would be easier to negotiate with a single point than a large violence-intent group. It wasn’t difficult to make a decision, to strip off her leather apron and put on her embroidered vest before stepping into her boots, lacing them up, and tossing a cloak over her shoulders.

It was time to open treaty talks with a group of dwarves. She only hoped it would not take years to get through to them.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Bilba hesitantly around the huge piles of gold feeling very thankful for the ring. It was quiet but it didn’t mean Smaug wasn’t around waiting to pounce on her. She ignored the gold and focused on the sparklies, the large ones. Thorin wanted her to find the Arkenstone. With the Arkenstone to prove he had found a way into Erebor, it should be easier to rally up a dwarven army to take out the dragon.

The treasure was oddly organized, mostly mountains of gold and then piles of gem-encrusted gold. There was a long table surrounded by velvet bags and piled with gems. Bilba’s eye was caught by a particular one that looked more like a polished orb the size of her fist. She edged closer to the table and reached out for it and then her fingers hit something she could not see. It was solid, slick, and covered the whole table all the way to the floor. Bilba could not find any cracks or openings.

“Do you mind dropping your invisibility? I’d like to see who I’m talking to.”

Bilba whirled and stared at a pretty female Big Folk, though she was not as tall as Gandalf. She was dressed in loose woollen gray trousers and a pretty tunic made of flowery white lace over white cotton. She had very curly light brown hair with different shades of light and dark visible under the light from the floating crystal balls. Thorin hadn’t said anything about floating crystal balls of light. Bilba wanted to run and get back to the dwarves but something made her stay. The lady was smiling slightly as she waited, her hands lightly clasped at her waist.

Bilba twisted the ring off and tucked it into her pocket. The lady smiled broadly but did not move forward, did not unclasp her hands or move in anyway.

“My name is Hermione. My contacts in Laketown said there was a lady hobbit with the group of dwarves who were guided by Mirkwood elves.”

Bilba did not see any huge benefit in denying the truth. “Yes. My name is Bilba.”

“May I ask where the dwarves are?”

Bilba bit her lip debating. “They’re waiting for me,” she said finally.

Hermione frowned slightly. “They sent you ahead? Alone?”

Bilba shrugged. “I’m the burglar. Besides you couldn’t see me.”

“True, but I knew you were here. And your magic does not stop your body scent or any sound you make, the coins shifting as you stepped on them.”

Bilba looked at her feet and realised Hermione was right. Then it hit her. How did Hermione get inside? “Where’s the dragon?”

“He’s around,” Hermione said vaguely.

And then all hell broke loose.

The dwarves must have lost their patience because they came charging out of the tunnel, attacking the one person they did not recognize: Hermione.

She did not move. She did not look the slightest bit terrified. In fact she was smiling as she watched the dwarves bearing down on her.

Dwalin then Gloin bounced off an invisible barrier around Hermione, just like the ones around the gem table. Thorin and Fili who were behind just managed to catch themselves from doing the same. Kili and Bofur weren’t as lucky and bounced.

She watched as the dwarves regained their footing and formed a circle around her. Hermione’s focus was set on Bilba and Thorin who had moved to her side, ready to defend the hobbit. Then she spoke.

“I’ve persuaded the dragon to move. He’s taken a portion of what he wanted. You can have the rest. In return I expect you to treat us as neutrals not enemies.”

“Why should we?” Thorin spat. “You’ve already confessed you are thieves.”

She raised a brow. “Or you can see all that pretty shiny gold and gems lying all around but never touch it.”

Thorin whirled and crouched, reaching out to a small pile of coin and found what she said was true. There was a barrier preventing him from touching it. All of company tried to touch different piles of gold and ran into the same problem.

Thorin moved until he was just inches away, looming over her before shouting, “Stop your magic!”

She ignored him and continued to speak, directing her attention to Bilba.

“Dragons are not greedy for no good reason. Rare metals and gems are part of their diet and need to be consumed for their continued health. The obsession for gold and gems was planted by the Dark side. This Taint led to their Fall, and the dragons most folk are familiar with.”

“So Smaug is no longer Tainted?” Bilba extrapolated. “Is that why he is willing to leave all this gold behind?”

“Correct. My talents allowed me to cleanse the Taint from him. It took a lot longer for his attitude and reflex-reactions to change, but it has. He knows he cannot make up for all the lives lost and he is not asking for forgiveness. He simply wants to move on from such a dark part of his past. And it wasn’t like he chose to lust for gold and blood, it was a curse laid on dragon-kind long before he was ever hatched. If you ever wish to contact us you can leave a message with Bard in Laketown.”

The dwarves froze, confused, torn, disbelieving. Seeing she was going to leave Bilba called out, “Wait!”

Hermione stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

“You said you broke the gold and blood lust curse on a dragon.”

“Correct.”

“Can you do the same for others?”

Hermione blinked and looked at Thorin, pupils wide and unfocused for three seconds before the contracted and focused. “You mean the one on the dwarves? It seems strongest on him,” she pointed to Thorin. “He is the current focus of the magic. The others are secondary.”

Bombur shook his head and Balin winced. “Durin’s curse. Gold sickness. Dragon sickness.”

“It was probably passed on by a dwarf picking up gold from a dragon’s horde,” Hermione theorized. “It would be interesting to see how it became a bloodline curse. Curse magics usually require a carrier with a solid magical core to be passed— Oh! You do have innate magics, that have to do with stone and metal. The curse is probably feeding off it. And by the way,” she turned to Bilba, “You’re carrying something cursed yourself. It’s trying to sink hooks into your soul but Yavanna’s blessing is strong and protective. You should really wrap that in several layers of silk to stop it from affecting the people around you.”

Bilba started. “What do you mean?”

Hermione sighed. “I’ve seen and felt such foul magic before. A wizard who feared death, he split his soul apart and kept pieces in various artefacts. My advice is you destroy it as soon as possible. I would volunteer to help but I doubt you truly trust me. I would recommend speaking to Lord Elrond or Lady Galadriel.”

And with that Hermione began walking away.

Bilba didn’t know if Hermione was telling the truth, but if she was, what else did she know, what else could she do? She ran after the woman shouting “Wait.”

Hermione stopped and turned, with a faintly exasperated expression. “What now?”

“What else can you do?”

The lady’s expression turned amused. “Lots of stuff. But I’m not interested in wasting my time with folk who don’t believe me.”

“I do!” Bilba blurted out. She wasn’t sure why but she did.

Hermione looked surprised then pleased. “Very well.” She removed a hand-sized velvet pouch from her bag and picked up an ewer that she dug into a pile of gold like a make-shift shovel. Once it was full she began pouring the gold coins into her velvet bag. The bag never filled and spilled though it should have because the ewer was much larger than the bag. She repeated the action five times, filling the pouch with far more coin than it should have been able to do. Then she knotted the string and tapped it with her finger. The cord glowed gold then faded.

She held the pouch out to Bilba who took it warily. It was too light! “How?”

“The pouch is yours, keyed to your aura.”

Bilba unknotted the cord and up-ended the pouch. The coins poured and poured until it formed a substantial pile that came up to Bilba’s waist.

“Bottomless and weightless. It’s a difficult enchantment that needs to be renewed every three-four years, more often if it is used more frequently. I tend to use it when I go on purchasing trips. I’ve never used pack animals to move my supplies.”

Bilba could easily see the practical use of such a pouch for merchants and travellers. “This is a priceless gift.”

“It’s yours.”

Bilba opened her mouth to protest and shut it. She didn’t want to argue with Istari, it was an exercise in futility. “Are you willing to sell these to others?” she asked.

“Renting would be more practical because the enchantment has to be renewed,” Hermione pointed out. “And I’m willing. For a suitable price.” She smirked at the dwarves. “When you are ready to be start talks send a message through Bard.”

She turned away and froze. “Astra!”

Everyone turned to see what had bothered Hermione . A little girl with bouncing dark brown curls wearing a green shift-like dress and tiny leather sandals. She was holding two gold coins in one tiny fist, the other was pushing something into her mouth and she was chewing vigorously. Hermione was walking fast towards her. Once she was close enough she knelt down and gripped the little girl’s hand, removing the coins from the tightly clenched fist. Then she pushed a finger into the little one’s mouth to pry out a wad of misshapen gold.

“Astra, you aren’t supposed to eat gold coins,” Hermione scolded.

“I’m hungry Mummy,” Astra whined. “You were talking to the short men.”

“They’re dwarves dear, not short men.”

“Dwarves,” Astra repeated obediently. “I’m still hungry. Can I have a cookie?”

A soft smile curved Hermione’s lips as she removed a metal tin from her waist pouch and opened it. It was filled with wonderful smelling baked goods that made the dwarves salivate. She removed one and the dwarves could see it was a biscuit… sprinkled with gold shavings? Astra grabbed the treat and after a rushed “Thank you Mummy!” she began munching on the biscuit.

“I know gold coins taste good but they are too rich for you,” Hermione told her daughter firmly. “You’ll get a tummy ache if you try to eat like Papa.”

“Hermione!” A deep masculine voice called from not-too-far away. “I found Hadrian!”

A slim but broad-shouldered man dressed in black leather pants, boots and a tooled vest over a purple shirt walked into the treasure room. He had dark curls, penetrating blue-gold eyes, a sheepish expression, and a huge red lizard (tiny dragon?) resting on his forearm blowing out tiny plumes of smoke.

Hermione made an exasperated sound as she hurried over to the man tugging a handkerchief from her pouch. She flapped it three times and it grew until it was the size of a hobbit blanket. She lifted the lizard (dragon?) set him on the ground and pressed her hand on his head. There was a glow and when it faded there was a small naked boy sitting on the stones.

“Oh Hadrian!” Hermione scolded as she lifted the little boy up to his feet and began wrapping the sheet around him. “Why do you have to shift all the time?”

“I want to eat and grow big like Papa!”

“Not until your mind is big enough to handle it.”

Bilba’s mind worked frantically, pushing pieces together, things she’d heard, things she’d seen, Gandalf’s mumblings…

“You’re the witch!” she blurted out.

Thorin gave her an incredulous look. “What?”

Bilba blushed. “It’s something I heard in Laketown. It seemed impossible, Smaug getting along with anyone.” She shot an apprehensive look at Hermione and the man. “They called her Smaug’s pet.”

The man laughed. “More like I’m hers,” he said as he wrapped one hand around the back of Hermione’s neck and kissed her.

The dwarves began backing away, Thorin dragging Bilba with him. Hermione looked saddened but resigned.

“We mean you no harm but if you attack we will use lethal force to defend ourselves.”

“Your mate drove us out of our home!” Thorin shouted.

“And I haven’t done anything like it since. I’m not even interested in gold beyond what I absolutely need, not since the Valar gave me Hermione.” He turned to the gently smiling woman and smirked. “I’m more interested in ravishing her.” The look they shared was intense, deeply intimate, and it made Bilba blush and want to look away. He turned to the dwarves and his expression turned serious. “I have no defence for my actions. I was under the influence of a curse but in the end it was my actions. I tried to kill Hermione dozens of times in the first few years but the Valar had placed too many protections on her. She kept at me until I started changing. Then I didn’t want to go back to killing on a whim, hording gold.” He looked at his mate with a soft expression. “Hermione centered me in a way I had never experienced before. From the moment I came out of the shell I was unbalanced, due to the Taint. I cared for nothing but blood and gold until her.”

Hermione caressed his jaw and chin before turning to the dwarves. “Gandalf has known something had changed for decades now. But he did not trust anything good if his allies had not meddled to bring it about. If you had bothered reaching out to Laketown after settling in Blue Mountains you would have found out decades ago. You could have moved back thirty years after being forced out.”

Thorin’s expression was shattered. Bilba couldn’t stop herself from grabbing his hand and squeezing it, to remind him she was there.

“Bilba?”

The hobbit turned to the Istari. “Yes lady?”

“I would like you to stay for a few months before you go back to The Shire.”

“Is there a reason?”

“I have a garden and I would appreciate a Hobbit’s touch, to improve its health. I guarantee your health and safety in my home. You may live here with your friends. I will pick you up and drop you off as needed.”

Bilba looked down at the bottomless weightless pouch Hermione had casually gifted her. It would be no hardship to stay a little longer. And she was curious about Hermione and her family and her garden.

“Okay.”

“Bilba!” Thorin hissed squeezing her hand.

Hermione chuckled. “I truly mean no harm to your hobbit. Bilba alone has the opportunity to visit my home see my secrets because I believe she is honourable and will not abuse my trust.” She smiled kindly. “There is no rush dear. If you change your mind just tell me.” She crouched to pick up Astra, Smaug picked up Hadrian who was wrapped in just the handkerchief-sheet. “I’ll be back in three days, two candlemarks after dawn. If you agree to my contract be ready.” And then the couple began walking away.

The moment they stepped through the entry way the spell broke. The dwarves began running after them. Kili was the first out. He spun around looking down both sides of the corridor.

“They’re gone.”

“They will be heading to an exit to outside,” Thorin stated.

The dwarves began running in that direction. Unfortunately they found no trace of the couple and the two children. Nothing but several rooms that that had been used recently, and well-appointed almost-clean working kitchen and bathroom.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Smaug relaxed when the Portkey set them in the outermost entry chamber of Godric’s Peak. He had honestly expected axes and swords in his back but Hermione had rendered the dwarves almost shell-shocked. It was the little hobbit who had been asking the questions and setting up points for future negotiations. Speaking of the hobbit…

“Why did you invite the hobbit to see your greenhouses?”

Hermione looked pointedly at their children who were blatantly listening because they too wanted to know. Smaug nodded and joined his wife as they fell into the familiar process of settling their brood into bed. Once everyone was sleeping the couple retreated to their own room and crawled into their own bed.

“Why did you invite the hobbit to see your greenhouses?”

“I was supposed to cleanse the Taint and help you change and leave. I wasn’t supposed to stay and fall in love,” she murmured burying her face in his bare shoulder.

Smaug stiffened at the new information. “They cannot take you away,” he hissed, “You are mine!”

“Aule and Yavanna agreed. So they gave me a few additional tasks. I need to treat the dwarves with Durin’s blood for gold sickness. And I need to hook up Yavanna’s daughter with Aule’s son.”

“The hobbit and the dwarf holding onto her?”

“His name is Thorin and he’s Thror’s grandson. Bilba sees the other dwarves as family but only Thorin as a possible lover.”

“Oh really?”

“Thank Merlin for Legimency. Bilba is quite attracted to Thorin but she’s burying her feelings. She thinks it’s hopeless, that he will never choose her, that he’ll marry one of his own race. We need to ensure this match happens. Aule and Yavanna want it. That’s why I offered the contract, so she has a reason to stay and not leave immediately as she was planning, to avoid a broken heart.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m going to be a refuge, someone she can talk to without worrying about it getting back to Thorin. And it will give me the perfect opportunity to do some prodding.”

“But did you have to invite her into our home?”

“We need to show some soft spots to gain trust.”

“And what about the gold sickness?”

“Remember the blood samples I took a few decades ago? After our first visit to Mirkwood?”

“Yes.”

“I used it to make a cure but I’ll only give it to them if they ask. I won’t force it on them, even if their own Maker asked it of me.”

“You do not have to worry much about that. Gold sickness is not something admired. Once they see enough to trust you they will ask you to remove the curse.”

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

“Hallo there!” an unfamiliar high pitched female voice called out cheerily.

The dwarves began scrambling out of their bedrolls and pulling out weapons. Then they stopped when they saw the intruder: a female teenager from the Race of Man. She was pretty and petite with light brown and gold streaked curls and blue-gold eyes. She was clearly Smaug and Hermione’s daughter.

“Who are you and how did you get in?” Thorin growled.

The teen rolled her eyes but she answered Thorin. “My name is Amaryllis. I Apparated. It’s magic.”

“What?” Kili asked baffled.

Amaryllis huffed and squeezed her eyes shut. Then she vanished with a soft pop and appeared several meters away. She opened her eyes and smiled smugly. “Apparition.”

“Ohhh!” Bilba was impressed. “Can you do other things?”

“Mum’s teaching me but I’ve been learning more battle arts. She says it’s more important for me to survive long enough so I can learn other things.” Amaryllis made a face. “She sent me to help you guys clean up.”

“Thank you but no…” Thorin trailed off when Amaryllis made a massive pile of shattered stone float and move over to one side. “Okay, you can stay.” Amaryllis grinned triumphantly.

“No problem. But you’re feeding me. Casting magic burns up energy.”

Thorin frowned. “Our supplies…” He watched Amaryllis walk off to the side and push a large crate into view.

“Mum sent this as a welcome home parcel. Temperature controlled cooler with lots of fresh foods to supplement your trail food.”

Thorin sighed but grudgingly nodded. It would be poorly done to refuse to feed her after she had brought food for them.

 

~ooOoo~

 

In three hours they were far ahead of schedule, thanks to Amaryllis and the clean-up her parents had done before leaving Erebor. By unspoken consent the group broke to eat. Everyone quite in silence, more focused on sating their hunger than speaking. Once they were almost done eating they started talking idly. Amaryllis listened in silence since none of the topics really interested her, nor were the questions directed to her. Until it was.

“Amaryllis, how old are you? You seem to be a bit young.” Bilba asked.

“I’m forty.” That set everyone back on their heels.

“But you look so young! Just a tween,” Bilba said dismayed.

“Forty is the dragon equivalent of a fifteen-year-old daughter of man,” Amaryllis reassured the hobbit. “I will be considered fully mature at fifty.”

“No you won’t,” Smaug interrupted calmly.

The dwarves turned surprised. None of them had heard him sneak up on them.

Amaryllis frowned. “Mum said I’ll be an adult after fifty.”

Smaug glowered. “You are my child. You won’t be an adult until I say so.”

Bilba sighed. She’d had a very similar conversation with her own father as a tween. From Amaryllis’s stormy expression it wasn’t the first time either. Then it vanished like a storm cloud after a sharp downpour. And the dragon tween smiled sweetly.

“Okay,” she chirped. “I’ll talk with Sigrid about the cute guys in Laketown.”

“AMARYLLIS!”

“Or the fresh meat,” she continued with a cheerful, gleeful expression. “Some of the dwarves are pretty cute Papa.”

Smaug’s expression twisted and the dwarves looked like rabbits ready to flee before they were pounced on by some hungry cat.

“I mean their leader is a bit old for my tastes,” Thorin looked like he wanted to say something but Dwalin jabbed him in the ribs. “But his nephews seem quite nice.” Said nephews looked like they wanted to run though Kili looked faintly interested. “But I’m really interested in Legolas. He’s a nice sweet elf, perfect for a first boyfriend.” Kili scowled and Fili jabbed him in the ribs before he could open his mouth and speak.

“Amaryllis!” Smaug’s cry was a cross between a pained moan and an enraged howl.

“Amaryllis, stop teasing your father,” Hermione scolded as she appeared out of nowhere, sliding up against her mate. “You know he still hasn’t adjusted to the thought of you actually growing up.”

Amaryllis pouted and flounced as she threw herself on the closest empty bench. “Seriously Papa, we’re growing up. You aren’t nearly as controlling with Sherlock and Khan and they’re younger than me!”

“By only fifteen minutes,” Smaug mumbled.

“Well you better get used to it Papa! Sooner or later I’m going to bring home someone and he’s probably going to be human.”

Smaug opened his mouth and then shut it. He looked pretty torn. “An elf would be better,” he grumbled.

“But pretty unlikely for me. If you want Elvin in-laws you’ll eventually get them from Khan, Sherlock and Astra, not me,” Amaryllis said tartly before getting up and grabbing Bilba’s hand. “Come on. We should continue moving the rubble. I told Sigrid I’d meet her for tea today.”

“Tea?” Bilba sighed in worshipful desire. It had been too long since she’d had a proper cup of real tea.

“You can join us,” Amaryllis offered.

“Thank you!”

And with that the two females rushed out of the room, to continue with the clean up.

The dwarves looked at Smaug who looked so downtrodden they felt sympathetic.

“Don’t take it too personally,” Bombur assured his race’s mortal enemy. “All daughters are like that. They test their sire’s patience, especially with unworthy suitors.”

Smaug opened his mouth then shut it. He wanted to argue but clearly recognized the truth in Bombur’s words.

Hermione patted her mate’s shoulder. “You’re going to have to come to terms with it dear. She’s going to have a human mate.”

Smaug snarled. “I’m not going to accept him until he proves to be a perfect match.”

Hermione simply nodded. “Of course dear.” But the dwarves recognized her expression was that of a female placating an angry mate before she went her own way at the first opportunity.

It seemed like even dragon husbands had the same problem with their females.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**TBC...**


	8. Part III – Return of Durin’s Line 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic sexual intimacy up ahead

Bilba liked the dragonlings. Amaryllis was the best little sister a hobbit could have. Her clutch brothers were a pair of bratty mischief-makers, so very like her Took cousins. The youngest two, Astra and Hadrian were the sweetest, cutest little things, fauntlings with no real malice, just pure love and a thick streak of curiosity.

Hermione and Smaug were good parents, they were firm setting boundaries but allowed their children to explore and go off on their own, very much like Bilba’s own parents had done when she was younger. Smaug still scared her a bit, very much like some of her sterner Baggins relatives, but she no longer feared he would kill her.

Bilba had grown to look forward to elevensies and lunch with Amaryllis and Hermione. It was a welcome break from gardening, an opportunity to relax and chat about everything and nothing. Amaryllis and Hermione were quite frank, almost scandalously so, but never in a hurtful way. They made Bilba laugh and feel comfortable in her skin.

“I really like Legolas, but not that much,” Amaryllis confessed as she sipped a cup of orange juice squeezed from oranges grown in Hermione’s greenhouse. And what a marvellous structure! A creation of wood, metal and glass that allowed Hermione to grow plants all year in the cooler peaks of a mountain range.

Bilba wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. “I didn’t have the opportunity to really speak with him but he looked quite handsome.”

Amaryllis sighed. “It’s just that Papa has been switching his mind between pushing me at Legolas and locking me up in a windowless cave. Not that I can’t escape from such a room! But still!”

“Your father is acting like all fathers dear. He wants to protect you and he thinks Legolas is the best option. You’ll find your perfect match and he’ll accept it.” Or else was firmly implied by Hermione’s tone.

“Amaryllis, you said something earlier that confuses me.”

“Yes?”

“You said your mate was most likely a human. And that Sherlock, Khan and Astra had elf mates? How is that possible? How do you know?”

Mother and daughter gave each other a look before Hermione spoke.

“It’s something private, unique to dragon biology.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you tell me,” Bilba vowed.

Hermione looked at Bilba intently before nodding. “I know you won’t dear.” She paused to gather her thoughts before speaking. “When a dragon shifts for the first time it is always to the race of their perfect match, a shape that appeals most to their future mate. A dragon doesn’t shift unless they are pure of heart and intent, ready and able to handle the joy and burden of being half of a couple.

“Dragons haven’t shifted in millennia, not since they Fell from the Taint. That’s why they’ve been dying out, because they couldn’t take a mate. Smaug would have died mateless if the Valar hadn’t sent me to him, to cleanse his soul and shape his thoughts. He was a friend for many years but it was only after he shifted I started seeing him as something more.”

“How did he know? That you were his perfect match?”

“He knew,” was all Hermione said.

Bilba frowned. “All your children have humanoid forms.”

“Yes. Usually a dragon first shifts occurs after maturity. All my children shifted minutes after they hatched.”

“We think it’s a sign from the Valar: Go forth and have children,” Amaryllis explained in a booming, theatrical voice. “It’s really odd because we think Astra has met her perfect match. We aren’t saying anything because she’s too young and it’s better if he recognizes it and chooses if he wants to be bound to her.”

“Legolas?”

Hermione laughed. “Oh no. He is much older.”

“So you’re certain?”

“Almost positive. You have to see the two of them to understand.”

“So you aren’t concerned? That he’s older?”

“Bilba, Smaug is centuries older and he was a cold-blooded killer. Glor— Astra’s possible match is everything a mother could want for her daughter. And speaking of possible matches, what about you? Any suitors? Near or far?”

Bilba blushed and shook her head. “No one. I wasn’t a proper hobbit when I was younger and folks have long memories in The Shire. The ones who do like me… I didn’t like them enough to accept their suit.”

“Are you very attached to living in the Shire? Having a hobbit husband?”

Bilba opened her mouth then shut it. Did she really want to go back to The Shire? Live as a spinster who never caught a husband?

“No…” she said slowly.

“Then what about other races? Man? Elf? Dwarf?” Amaryllis spoke the last one slyly.

Bilba blushed but forced herselt to speak calmly. “Elves and Big-folk are too tall. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with one. Living in the same household would be troublesome.”

“You haven’t said anything about dwarves,” Hermione pointed out casually.

“I haven’t met many dwarves,” Bilba murmured. “Just the ones in the Company.”

“Most of them are older or in relationships,” Hermione allowed, “But some are young and single; the scribe Ori, Fili and Kili,” Hermione studied Bilba intently. “Or is it their uncle who intrigues you?”

Bilba blushed then paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I watch you watch Him. You like him, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“There’s nothing wrong with chasing someone who doesn’t like you,” Amaryllis added firmly. “Girls do it all the time. Sometimes boys are dense and don’t See you until you make them really look at you.”

“I’m no tween to be chasing anyone,” Bilba sighed.

“Nonsense! Men do appreciate being pursued. It is proof they are still desirable.” Hermione explained calmly.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can even _think_ of chasing Thorin.”

“You don’t have to chase him,” Amaryllis pointed out. “You just need to put yourself out there. So he can see the real you.”

“If he has the brains Aule gave him he’ll see you for the gem you are,” Hermione added.

Bilba bit her lip. “He’s a King. A dwarf king. He’s going to marry some pretty dwarf lady and have dwarf children.”

“He’s a dwarf king who just won his kingdom by his own sweat and blood. He’s going to want someone he can trust and rely on by his side, someone who is more than a pretty face with a greedy father.”

“I don’t have a large dowry,” Bilba argued, though her resistance was weakening.

“You have something more valuable than money: Fertility. The dwarves need good food and good health more than gold or gems. You are Yavanna’s child. She will listen to you if you have a worthy need, and what is more worthy than restoring a destroyed land? Planting, tending and harvesting to feed your people?”

“I’m only one hobbit.”

“Who is the granddaughter of the Thain. Surely you have a few Took relatives who would be eager to travel to strange and foreign lands.”

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

It didn’t happen quickly.

Using Hermione’s advice Bilba first approached Balin, since he had taken over the Seneschal duties.

“How are the food supplies doing?”

“Badly,” Balin confessed. “The Dale has surpluses but not enough to feed all the dwarves who are starting to arrive. We have enough to manage this winter but the one after is going to be a different story.”

“Can Dain’s folk go back to Iron Hills?”

“We need them here, to help with the rebuilding. Dis will be arriving with the first caravans in the spring. We will have to buy food just to feed them.”

Bilba inhaled deeply. “We can grow food.”

Balin looked at her. “The frost will kill anything we plant. There are some caverns that were used to grow root vegetables and mushrooms but it’s not going to be enough.”

Bilba chewed on her lip looking everywhere before screwing up enough courage to look Balin in the eye.

“I’ve been working in Hermione’s gardens. She has a set-up that can grow fruits and vegetables, trees even, in elevations where there is always frost or snow. Inside a mountain.”

Balin frowned. “And what would this cost us?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I can ask. There will be a price but it can be part of the wergeld Smaug owes the dwarves of Erebor.”

Balin looked at his notes, the current supply inventory and his calculations. They would barely make it into spring but there would have nothing to eat while tending a crop. He debated the pros and coins before making a decision.

“Okay. Talk to Lady Hermione. I’ll talk to Thorin.”

From his expression, Balin was not looking forward to the impending shouting match.

 

~ooOoo~

 

It was a big one but eventually Thorin had to concede and agree: Smaug would work off his wergeld by helping the dwarves survive the coming years. And he had to do real work! His mate was not going to magically fix everything!

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Thorin had been sceptical when he heard the requests communicated through Bilba: _Bring every empty intact mining cart up to the forges._

At the appointed time Smaug and Hermione appeared with a near-soundless pop. But this time they were accompanied by Amaryllis, Astra and Hadrian, and two identical teenage boys the same age as Amaryllis, but more like their father in appearance, though their ears were more pointed.

“Our sons Sherlock and Khan,” Hermione introduced. “They’ll be doing the bulk of the material transport.”

The boys nodded their heads in unison and wandered over to the closest carts. They grabbed the edges of one and vanished soundlessly with the cart.

“We found a lovely beach with the best sand for making glass,” Hermione explained. “The boys will be bringing carts of sand back.” She turned to Bilba who was watching quietly. “Do you mind keeping Astra and Hadrian entertained? If they were old enough to have reliable self-control I’d ask Sigrid to baby-sit, but they aren’t.”

“I don’t mind,” Bilba assured as she stepped forward to grab the wrists of the youngest children and step back a safe distance. “Should I take them out?”

“No,” Hermione said decisively. “They enjoy watching us work.”

And work they did.

The twins returned with a crate filled with sand and vanished with another empty cart. Amaryllis levitated the cart over to the forge lit by Smaug who had shifted into a hybrid dragon-man form. He had stripped off his clothes and shoes, standing in just a pair of loose-fitting cotton pants. There was a trail of red scales that ran down each side of his neck to join at the top of his spine and run down his back in a faint ridge. His forearms were covered with scales, looking like gauntlets though they were flexible and more flesh-like over the hands and claw-tipped fingers. Thorin suspected his lower legs were similarly armoured given the claw-tipped toes.

Hermione poured the sand and held it mid-air while Smaug blew flames, melting the sand and shaping it with his breath and fire.

“You need control,” he told Amaryllis. “You have to breath at a constant even rate. Fluctuations will cause imperfections that will crack when tempered. If it cracks remelt it and begin again.”

Amaryllis nodded and followed her sire’s instructions. The glass she created were smaller and flat sheets, quite unlike Smaug who was making glass with curves and bends.

They emptied the first sand cart and started on the second cart, then the third, then the forth.

There were piles of worked glass, shaped pieces and flat. While they cooled and tempered Smaug produced a leather-bound journal and opened it to a set of detailed drawings the depicting sections of what looked like a house made of frames.

“It’s a greenhouse,” Smaug explained. “It traps heat and moisture inside so plants can grow in cold seasons and lands.”

~ooOoo~

It took several days for dwarves to assemble the iron framework from Smaug’s design. In that time Smaug had already constructed two similar structures. The dragon was a skilled worker though he used very few of the tools one would expect a metal worker to use.

“You use magic.” Thorin accused.

“A bit. But I’ve built similar structures before. A lot.” Smaug countered.

“It is better not to use magic for a structure that needs to last without magic maintaining it,” Hermione explained. “I only helped by holding the rods while Smaug welded them. And we have experience assembling and building structures mid-air.”

~ooOoo~

Thorin watched as Smaug fitted the sheets of glass into the framework, using his claws to cut pieces so they would fit exactly so.

“Why are you putting one pane from outside and another from the inside?”

“Hermione calls it double glazing. The air trapped between the two panes of glass improves the heat retention.”

~ooOoo~

Next came the copper piping to transfer water from the hot springs throughout the floor of the greenhouse, under wooden slats.

“You don’t want the water to escape. It has too much minerals and will affect the soil quality. Someone has to check the pipes at least once a year and maintain it.”

~ooOoo~

They were using existing air shafts and re-opening a few mining shafts to bring in fresh air but there was no way they could bring the sun into the mountain. Thorin’s ancestors had used a complicated system of mirrors and extra-wide air shafts but the mirrors had been destroyed and the shafts collapsed.

The eldest three were transporting several crates into the cavern; appearing with one, dropping it off, and vanishing before reappearing with another.

This time it was Hermione who took the lead. She opened the first crate and removed the straw padding the contents. There were fist sized chunks of glass with a chunk of quartz suspended within. When she touched one it lit up with its own light, the source of the light being the quartz crystal.

“These globes emit natural sunlight. They need to be exposed to the sun for seven days before they can be used inside for seven days.” She pulled a book from the crate and handed it to Bilba. “I’ve included a copy of my notes, the best layout arrangements, concentrations required for certain types of plants. You’ll need to build a framework to hold the orbs. We use something similar to a metal hanging basket suspended from the ceiling. Someone will have to be assigned the duty of switching and recharging the orbs. I suggest you divide the orbs to have three sets: one in use, one being charged, one for backup, in case of bad weather.”

“How long will these last?” Thorin asked.

“The enchantment will last ten years. At that point you will be self-sufficient enough to trade for food, or if you wish to continue with the cavern fields you can buy replacements from us. At market price.”

~ooOoo~

Once the greenhouses were set up and ready to go Bilba took the lead, planting the vegetable seedlings she and Hermione had cultivated in Hermione’s greenhouses. Bombur tended the root vegetables planted in the cavern itself, since they didn’t need as much warmth to grow.

After the first harvest of mushrooms, carrots and potatoes Thorin had to admit Smaug had definitely paid off a good chunk of the wergeld owing. With the cavern fields and greenhouses the dwarves could afford to house and feed all the dwarves who would be travelling to Erebor in the spring.

It was after this did Thorin give strong consideration to Balin’s other urging: Ask Lady Hermione to purge the gold sickness from the Company, from Durin’s line. Thorin did not want another Thror hording gold and making enemies because he loved gold more. And Hermione was more than happy to do so, paying off even more of the wergeld.

Thorin could sense the change within minutes of drinking the foul-tasting potion. The whispers urging him to act selfishly, the flickering ghosts taunting him from around corners, they were all gone.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

Hermione was getting annoyed with Thorin Oakenshield. He was not taking the hefty nudges from her and his own dwarves. He was refusing to see Bilba as a potential spouse, a worthy queen.

“Every time anyone points out how pretty and good and loyal Bilba is he pretends he doesn’t hear. And he keeps calling her Burglar!”

“Does it have to be him?” Smaug asked. “All dwarves are sons of Mahal. And I’ve noticed more than a few of the newcomers admiring her looks and competence.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Maybe I should stop trying with Thorin.”

“Hermione…”

“He doesn’t publicly appreciate her, he doesn’t admit he wants her. Maybe a bit of competition will get him off his arse.”

Smaug groaned but said nothing. It was impossible to divert Hermione when she decided on a course of action.

 

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

 

Thorin was going mad. He thought he had been so smart, resisting Bilba’s sweetness, the matchmaking from Hermione, Amaryllis, and his own Company (traitors)! Bilba was too young for an old dwarf like him. He could not keep her from her warm, comfortable home in The Shire, bury her in Erebor away from green things. But now he was having second doubts about his decision.

Smaug’s mate had stopped pushing Bilba towards Thorin; instead she was playing matchmaker and introducing Bilba to every dwarf in Erebor! And Bilba was showing no sign of what men called ‘cabin-fever’. She was enjoying herself in the greenhouses, tending the more delicate plants and herbs. She was already drawing up lists of possible plants that could be used or sold to the residents of Laketown. She had not said a single word about going back to The Shire. In fact she was talking about staying permanently, writing to her relatives and asking them to send her belongings and seeds to Erebor.

Now Thorin had to face the reality that Bilba might be staying and accepting another as suitor and husband. Thorin knew he could not bear that possibility. It would kill him to see Bilba with another. But how was he supposed to tell her that he wanted her when he was the one who had pushed her away?

 

~ooOoo~

 

“Have you given thought to Ruful?” Hermione asked idly as she sipped her tea. “He seems quite taken with you.”

Bilba’s lips turned down at the corners. “Maybe. But I have the feeling he’s more interested in my connections. To you and Thorin.”

“Possible. But he does like you.”

“But I don’t like him. Not like…” she trailed off with a sad look.

“Not like you like Thorin,” Hermione concluded.

“Yes.” Bilba stiffened her shoulders. “Ruful seems soft.”

“He’s definitely not soft,” Hermione scoffed. “He’s a blacksmith.”

“But he doesn’t make my tummy flutter,” Bilba confessed.

“Have you ever felt it before?”

“Yes. But it always went away when I kissed. Too wet and sloppy.”

Hermione laughed. “I have to agree. I wouldn’t want a wet sloppy kisser.”

“I’m assuming Smaug is not a wet sloppy kisser.”

Hermione’s expression turned dreamy. “You would be right.” Her expression turned serious. “You said Ruful seems soft. How?”

Bilba bit her lip and thought hard before speaking. “I haven’t seen him fight. I know dwarves are trained but I haven’t seen him Fight, go up against impossible odds and come through. He doesn’t make me furious and determined to prove him wrong. He doesn’t make my stomach knot and my pulse pound.”

“Do you dream of him at night? Do you imagine him pinning you to your bed, running his hands over every inch of skin, squeezing your breasts—” “Hermione!” “Settling between your thighs, pinning you down with his weight, driving his—” “Enough!”

Bilba glared at the older woman. “Enough,” she repeated. Her breath was ragged. “I dream of him every night. I pleasure myself imagining it’s his fingers but it’s not. It’s not rough and callused and thick and strong. I wake feeling empty and hollow, needing to be filled. By him. I want him so bad it hurts.”

“Then why are you telling this to me? What are you waiting for?” Hermione asked. “Go to him. Tell him.”

“It’s not proper.”

“Dwarves notions of proper do not match hobbit notions. Besides, Thorin doesn’t care much for proper behaviour.”

“And what about children?”

“Yavanna will bless you, I have no doubt about that. If the Council throws a fuss Thorin has two heirs in Fili and Kili. Besides, do you really want your son to be king?”

“No.” The answer was immediate and truthful. Bilba did not want her children to be burdened by a crown. It was hard enough being part of a royal family.

“Then go to him.”

 

~ooOoo~

 

Thorin was tired. It had been a long day and he had not seen Bilba for three whole days. Balin had informed him she was spending a few days with Hermione. He hoped she would be returning soon. He had gotten used to her showing up in the afternoon with a tray of tea, currant scones and berry tarts, to ‘encourage’ him to take a break.

He was walking on automatic, heading to his bedroom when he realised there was someone else in his private rooms. Bilba was in his sitting room with a tea tray and lemon tarts. Peppermint tea. He changed direction and walked to her, accepted the mug of herbal tea and sat down beside her.

One and a half mugs of peppermint tea, and two lemon tarts later, Thorin felt much better, and ready to ask the question on his mind.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were spending a few days with Hermione.”

“I was. She’s very comfortable to talk to.” Bilba looked away. “We were talking about things and she asked me a few questions that got me thinking.”

Thorin was confused. “May I ask what were the questions?”

“She asked me what I was waiting for.” Thorin stared at her, a small bud of hope unfurling. “She asked me why I was talking to her about how much I want You.”

Thorin reached out and gripped her wrist with one hand, loosely encircling with thumb and pointer finger. The pad of his thumb rested over her pulse point. Absently he caressed it, up and down along the blue vein. “How much?” he asked softly.

Bilba met his eyes. They were so green, like grass in The Shire. Her pupils were dilated with a thin ring of green. Her lips were red and faintly swollen, bleeding through a small wound. She had been chewing on them.

“I dream of you when I’m sleeping. I imagine you touching me like you are,” she glanced down at her wrist, “And in other places.” She gripped his hand and lifted it to her breast, moulding his fingers around her flesh. She wasn’t wearing a corset or any chest bindings, just her tunic and a thin chemise.

He could not resist squeezing the soft curve, testing the weight and resiliency. Thorin was not used to females with such lush ripe curves. Darrowdams tended to be flat and muscular, unless they were with child or nursing. He could feel her nipple, long, erect and so very sensitive. Her breath hitched as he squeezed, twisted, and manipulated. It wasn’t long before the tunic laces were unknotted, the tunic and chemise tugged over her head and tossed aside. He palmed both breasts playing with her dark brown nipples.

“Where else do I touch you?” he asked, softly in one pointed ear. She shivered and he could feel the reaction in her body. Curious he traced the edge to the pointed tip with his tongue. Her reaction was electric.

Bilba cried out and stiffened before her body twisted. One second towards him, the next away. Her body was torn between conflicting effects. Intrigued he captured the tip of her ear and sucked gently. He was forced to abandon her breasts, to set one hand on the back of her neck, the other against the lower curve of her belly, to control her almost violent thrashing. He could hear her frantic breathing, feel the struggle in her tiny body, the ripples in her belly muscles, the trembling of her limbs.

Bilba lay against Thorin as he pushed her skirt up and tore a slit in the crotch of her damp drawers. She trembled as he swiped thick, callused fingers through the thick slickness coating her lower lips. She moaned and arched her hips towards his touch. Her jewel was engorged, swollen erect and very sensitive. She smelt musky, tasted faintly citrusy and delicious. She rolled her hips up into his strokes, shifting so the callused pads stroked directly over her jewel.

“How do you want me?” she gasped out inbetween soft pants. “Temporary or for life?”

Thorin didn’t have to think. “For life.”

“As your secret indulgence? Your concubine? Your plaything?”

“As my wife!” he snarled and thrust two fingers into her opening, hooking upwards to stroke the textured flesh. “You are mine!”

“And children?”

“I will cherish them because they are Ours.”

She came apart under his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck for an anchor. Once she could think coherently she moved against him, straddling his lap, pressing her groin against his semi-erect cock. He wished he had loosened the laces of his trousers. If he had he could be feeling her wet warmth against his cock. He could be inside her, buried in her hot, silky cunt.

Bilba clearly felt the same because she moaned and pressed closer. “I need you inside me,” she begged. “I ache. I feel empty, hollow.”

Thorin shifted her just enough to tear at his laces and push down his trousers. The moment his cock was free and erect he lifted her up and settled her over his groin. She was so wet there was no resistance as he slid in, deeper, higher. Her cunt was longer than he had imagined. She took every single inch of him inside her with ease. Thorin liked that. He did not have to be extra careful to restrain himself every time he rammed his cock into her tight hole.

Bilba moaned and spread her knees, sinking impossibly deeper until her lower lips were pressed flush against his groin. She rocked her pelvis, rubbing her jewel against him. Thorn reached down between them to pinch and twist her swollen flesh, making her come hard on him. The convulsions of her cunt around his cock made it impossible for Thorin to resist when he came, filling her with his seed.

Deep down Thorin wanted his seed to take root, to watch Bilba’s waist expand as she grew heavy with child. His only worry was Dis. He didn’t want to tell her they had to have the wedding before she arrived because he could not control himself from taking his betrothed to bed at every single opportunity.

 

~ooOoo~

 

The next day Bilba was wearing a set of betrothal beads and braids in her hair when she arrived in the main communal dining hall for breakfast. She smiled proudly as she accepted the congratulations from everyone around. When Hermione, Smaug and their children showed up she ran straight to them. She didn’t have to say a word, her expression said it all.

Hermione laughed and knelt on the ground to hug the hobbit. “Congratulations dear. I wish you and Thorin all the best.”

Bilba smiled shyly. “Thorin wants to have a ceremony in the spring, after his sister arrives.”

“Dis will kill me if I get betrothed and married without her witnessing.” Thorin had followed Bilba and was standing just behind the hobbit.

Hermione nodded. “Dis is being sensible. Any good sister will want to talk to her future sister-in-law first.”

“Hermione…”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could stand up with me. At the wedding,”

Hermione smiled gently. “I would be honoured.”

“Can I be your flower girl?” Astra asked. “I’ll be a really really good flower girl.”

Bilba was confused. “Flower girl?”

“It’s a tradition from my land. A young female relative, or child of a friend, precedes the bride, throwing flower petals on the path to the altar.”

Bilba smiled. “That sounds lovely.” She hugged Astra. “I’d love to have you as my flower girl.” She stepped back on Thorin’s foot, to keep him from saying anything. Sure, flower girls were not a hobbit or dwarf tradition, but all traditions had to start somewhere. Maybe all future dwarf brides would have flower girls, because their Queen started the new trend.

Whatever the future would bring, Bilba was absolutely positively certain she could face it, no problem. She had friends and family and in the near future she would have a husband who she loved more than she ever thought possible.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it.  
> No plans to revisit/expand on this fic/verse


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